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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY, 

Publishers, 
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BONNYBOROUGH 


BY 


MRS.  A.   D.  T.  WHITNEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,"  "THE  GAYWORTHYS,' 

"HITHERTO,"  THE  "REAL  FOLKS"  SERIES, 

"  ODD,  OR  EVEN,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1886 


Copyright,  1885, 
BY  ADELINE  D.  T.  WHITNEY. 


GIFT 

The  'Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  THE  SCHOTTS 1 

II.  THE  KNOLLS 11 

III.  SPACE  AND  EMPTINESS 21 

IV.  WHY  TO-DAY  1         , 28 

V.   MRS.  DORA  DISCERNS 37 

VI.   MRS.  DORA  UNDERTAKES        ....  45 

VII.   ORCHIDS  AND  TEA-ROSES 51 

VIII.   CAPE  CAMPUS 62 

IX.  THORNS 74 

X.  PULPIT  ROCK 82 

XL   SUNSHINE  is  SUNSHINE 97 

XII.  Foa  AND  CHASM 102 

XIII.  SLEEP- WAKING 115 

XIV.  C.  P 123 

XV.   STEPHANOSPH^ER^E 134 

XVI.  BLIND  ROSES 143 

XVII.  RUSTY  LEAVES 151 

XVIII.  CROSS  LIGHTS 156 

XIX.  HONESTY-PLANT 163 

XX.  ATOMS  AND  OWLS 180 

XXI.   EVERY  WORD  .        -197 


514 


Copyright,  1885, 
BY  ADELINE  D.  T.  WHITNEY. 

AH  rights  reserved. 


GIFT 

The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Go. 


J 


iu 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  THE  SCHOTTS 1 

II.   THE  KNOLLS 11 

III.  SPACE  AND  EMPTINESS 21 

IV.  WHY  TO-DAY  ? 28 

V.  MRS.  DORA  DISCERNS 37 

VI.  MRS.  DORA  UNDERTAKES        ....        45 

VII.   ORCHIDS  AND  TEA-ROSES 51 

VIII.   CAPE  CAMPUS 62 

IX.  THORNS 74 

X.  PULPIT  ROCK 82 

XL   SUNSHINE  is  SUNSHINE 97 

XII.  FOG  AND  CHASM 102 

XIII.  SLEEP- WAKING 115 

XIV.  C.  P 123 

XV.   STEPHANOSPH^ER^ 134 

XVI.  BLIND  ROSES 143 

XVII.  RUSTY  LEAVES 151 

XVIII.  CROSS  LIGHTS 156 

XIX.  HONESTY-PLANT 163 

XX.  ATOMS  AND  OWLS 180 

XXL  EVERY  WORD  •  197 


514 


iv  CONTENTS. 

XXII.  ALONG  THE  RIVERSIDE 216 

XXIII.  HARD  KNOTS  AND  SLIPS 221 

XXIV.  UNCERTAINTIES 231 

XXV.  MRS.  DORA'S  BALCONY 241 

XXVI.   THEY  SAY 247 

XXVII.  PEACE  POLLY'S  SKIRMISHES       .        .         .        .251 

XXVIII.    GOOD  WISHES 270 

XXIX.   MRS.  PAMELA  CHIRKE 274 

XXX.   QUITTANCE 290 

XXXI.   How  COULD  You  ? 298 

XXXII.   SERENA'S  ERRAND 302 

XXXIII.  BONNYBOROUGH    IS   BUSY 309 

XXXIV.  ENLISTED 317 

XXXV.   A  CABLEGRAM 323 

XXXVI.  LILIES  AND  BIRDS 330 

XXXVII.  THE  WIND  UP  RIVER         .        .        .        .        .338 

XXXVIII.  ANOTHER  DANGER 354 

XXXIX.  ISA.  XL.  1,  2 360 

XL.  BETROTHALS 367 

XLI.  IPOM^A 376 

XLII.  THE  DAY  OF  ALL  SAINTS  383 


BONNYBOROUGH. 


i. 

THE   SCHOTTS. 

"  PEACE  POLLY." 

The  congregation  stared,  and  the  child  screamed,  all 
through  the  christening. 

"  No  wonder,"  said  the  rector's  lively  little  wife  to  him, 
when  he  had  got  out  of  his  surplice,  and  was  walking 
along  with  her  homeward  in  his  coat,  —  "  no  wonder. 
'  Peace.  Polly  Schott !  '  i  Pease  porridge  hot ! '  is  what  it 
will  get  to  be  called.  Lucky  you  did  n't  have  to  say  the 
surname !  " 

"  Now,  Dora,  —  Pan-dora,  —  don't  let  that  out  of  the 
box!"  said  the  rector.  "Other  people  mayn't  think  of 
all  you  do,"  —  which,  indeed,  they  would  often  have  had 
to  be  nimble  to  manage. 

"  But  just  think,  —  if  she  should  l  lead  the  remainder 
of  her  life  according  to  this  beginning ' !  " 

"  Wifief"  said  the  rector.  He  always  said  "wifie" 
when  he  reproved  her,  and  I  am  afraid  that  was  not  sel 
dom.  But  he  did  it  under  that  tender  acknowledgment 
that  she  was  one  flesh  with  himself,  even  in  faults,  after 
all.  "  You  are  making  pleasantry  of  the  Prayer-Book, 
now.  And  remember,  too,  that  this  beginning  is  not  the 
outward,  natural  one,  but  the  very  thing  that  is  to  shape 
and  overrule  it,  —  the  grace  prayed  for  and  promised." 
1 


2  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Oh,  I  know,  dear,"  said  Dora,  meekly.  "  But  it  is 
funny.  And  I  can't  help  feeling  the  grace  will  all  be 
needed." 

So  Peace  Polly  Schott  was  in  the  world,  and  in  the 
church.  And  both,  I  may  as  well  say  at  the  outset,  grew 
to  be  lively  in  her,  as  she  grew  and  was  trained. 

She  inherited,  perhaps,  some  curiously  balancing  or 
contending  characteristics  from  the  same  descent  through 
which  had  come  her  names.  They  were  the  names  of  her 
two  grandmothers,  —  Peace  Marvin,  a  sweet  old  Quaker 
ess,  and  Polly  Schott,  the  smartest,  drivingest,  most  un 
compromising,  of  housekeepers  and  family  managers.  She 
got  her  quick  perceptions  and  energies  and  her  hasty 
tongue  from  the  Schott  side ;  something  inward  and  hid 
den,  that  often  secretly  arraigned  and  testified  against  the 
outer  self,  from  the  dear  old  disciple  of  the  Inner  Light. 

I  have  said  a  good  deal  about  names  in  many  stories  I 
have  told ;  if  I  live  to  tell  others,  I  may  say  a  good  deal 
more.  For  Shakespeare  never  suggested  more  deeply 
than  when  he  put  the  question,  "What's  in  a  name?" 
I  think,  myself,  there  is  pretty  nearly  everything  in  it; 
though,  as  in  that  other  matter  he  discourses  of,  we  are 
some  of  us  born  and. fitted  to  our  appellations,  while  upon 
some  of  us  they  are  thrust,  and  are  either  an  irony  through 
life,  or  fit  us  to  themselves  by  the  wonderful  power  of 
Name  upon  the  thing  or  soul  that  bears  it.  Why  should  it 
not  be  a  power  ?  It  is  given  us  solemnly,  in  the  very  mo 
ment  that  we  are  baptized  into  the  Name  of  the  Lord. 
And  the  Name  of  the  Lord  is  his  own  revelation. 

Any  way,  Peace  Polly  was  the  very  impersonation  of 
hers,  with  all  its  associations.  She  was  born  with  a  rush 
in  her  brain,  a  quick,  intense  flow  of  life,  and  the  recogni 
tion  of  life.  She  was  full  of  idea,  of  purpose,  and  she  was 
intense  of  will  in  the  carrying  out  of  these.  There  fol- 


THE   SCHOTTS. 

lowed,  naturally,  with  one  of  her  temperament,  an  impet 
uous  rebellion  against  whatever  contradicted,  crossed,  or 
thwarted.  Things,  happenings,  doings,  —  all  fell  under 
her  sudden  indignation,  when  they  jarred,  interrupted, 
contradicted.  And  inside,  all  the  while,  was  the  "  grace  " 
that  would  not  let  her  be  angry  comfortably,  —  a  "  peace  " 
that  spoke  itself  to  her  rebukingly  in  the  very  midst  of  her 
explosions.  But  nobody  knew  about  this,  save  herself  and 
the  Giver. 

Peace  Polly  was  the  youngest  child  of  her  father,  and 
her  mother  was  the  second  Mrs.  Schott.  There  had  been 
an  interval  of  eighteen  years  between  the  little  girl  and 
her  half-brother,  Lyman.  Lyman  was  tolerably  fond  of 
his  little  sister.  He  liked,  also,  to  "  stir  Peace  Polly  up." 
He  had  a  quiet,  narrow  mind,  as  different  from  Peace 
Polly's  as  calm  daylight  through  a  shutter-crack  from 
forked  lightning  across  the  sky ;  that  was  what  came  be 
tween  them  of  the  two  mothers.  Lyman  saw  just  what 
that  chink-ray  fell  upon,  —  saw  it  clearly,  exclusively,  but 
not  an  inch  on  either  side  of  it.  Peace  Polly's  thought 
illumined  all  creation  to  her,  for  one  minute,  and  was 
apt  to  strike  somewhere.  But  it  was  over  —  the  insight 
and  impulse  —  as  quickly,  often.  She  had  many  an  eager 
notion,  which  she  raged  if  opposed  in,  but  which,  if  left  to 
herself,  she  might  speedily  have  done  with,  as  a  thing  ex 
hausted  in  the  inception.  She  had  frequently  had  enough 
of  it  before  there  was  time  or  opportunity  to  carry  it  out 
in  practice. 

The  nursery  rhyme  did  get  fitted  to  her,  and  by  slow 
brother  Lyman  himself.    It  was  apropos  of  these  her  brief 

enthusiasms  :  — 

"Peace  Polly  'shot, 

Peace  Polly  's  cold; 
Peace  Polly  's  got  a  lot 
Of  plans,  but  they  've  all  gone  to  pot, 

Nine  days  old! " 


4  BONNYBOROUGH. 

And  by  another  application,  once,  when  she  had  banged 
away  to  her  own  room,  and  slammed  the  door,  after  a 
wrathful  outburst  at  him,  and  he  coolly  followed  to  write 
upon  the  outer  panel  in  pencil,  — 

"Peace  Polly  'shot; 
Peace,  Polly  scold!  " 

These  were  two  of  Lyman's  exceptional  inspirations. 
He  was  not  ordinarily  quick  in  any  sense,  and  I  think 
these  were  somewhat  careful  impromptus  elaborated  be 
tween  times. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  that  there  was  nothing  in  Peace 
Polly's  name  to  her  experience  long  before  she  herself  was 
fifteen  and  Lyman  thirty-three. 

But  Lyman  never  knew  that  after  the  door  was  slammed 
in  his  face  that  day  something  gave  way  in  his  little  sis 
ter's  heart,  and  she  was  down  on  her  knees  in  the  window, 
with  her  head  upon  the  sill,  and  great  throbs  were  seeking 
their  way  upward  as  into  the  deeps  of  calm  blue  that  she 
did  not  even  lift  her  eyes  to,  but,  like  a  little  publican, 
clenched  her  two  hands  tight  across  her  breast,  and  sobbed 
out,  purposeless  and  yet  as  to  Some  One,  "  Oh,  I  am  just 
hateful,  and  just  as  I  do  hate  to  be !  " 

Not  knowing,  he  went  on,  in  a  mild,  slow,  almost  me 
chanical  way  as  it  came  to  be,  "stirring  up  Pease  Por 
ridge." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  get  married,  and  go  off,  and  let  people 
be !  "  Peace  Polly  said  to  him,  when  she  was  ten  and  he 
was  twenty-eight. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  laughed  Lyman. 

"  Only  I  pity  your  wife,"  added  Peace  Polly. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Lyman,  gravely.  "  So  much  that  I 
shall  not  let  her  be.  You  '11  grow  up,  Pease  Porridge,  and 
keep  house  for  me  when  we  're  two  old  folks,  —  or  an  old 
folk  and  a  half.  We  shan't  be  exactly  old  together." 


THE   SCHOTTS.  5 

"  There  '11  have  to  be  two  to  agree  to  that,"  said  Peace 
Polly,  in  an  elderly  way. 

"  Or  three,  may  be.  Though  it  is  n't  likely,"  returned 
Lyman. 

Peace  Polly  looked  up  with  shrewd  inquiry. 

"  What  ain't  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Number  three." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  child.  "  No  ;  num 
ber  three  ain't  likely.  It  '11  be  number  one,  if  any 
thing." 

"Guess  so,  too.  Wouldn't  advise  you  to  skip  him," 
retorted  Lyman,  with  obscure  satire,  half  suspected  by  lit 
tle  Peace  Polly. 

When  Lyman  went  out  of  the  room  a  few  minutes  after, 
she  walked  straight  to  the  looking-glass,  and  gazed  search- 
ingly  and  unflinchingly  in. 

"  I  ain't  pretty,  and  I  ain't  good,"  she  said,  solemnly 
honest  with  herself.  "Nobody '11  want  to  marry  me. 
That's  what  he  meant.  Well,  it's  a  long  time  to  look 
forward  to,  and  a  good  many  things  may  happen,"  she 
added,  quoting  from  her  child-memory  a  speech  of  Mrs. 
Schott's.  And  with  that  she  turned  away  from  the  glass, 
and  went  back  to  reading  "  Diamonds  and  Toads,"  from 
which  and  its  companion  tales  she  had  got  all  her  present 
ideas  of  marriage  and  seeking  in  marriage.  She  could 
still  put  herself  by  into  that  dim  future  between  now  and 
when  so  much  might  happen,  and  be  heart-absorbed  in  the 
fates  of  Blanche  and  Dorinda. 

The  first  Mrs.  Schott  had  been  a  zealous,  faithful,  Pu 
ritan  woman,  a  church-member,  and  conscientious  in  her 
family  relations,  after  that  devoted  and  anxious  order. 
Mr.  Schott  was  not  a  "  professor,"  but  he  was  a  very  fair, 
kindly,  upright  man,  according  to  the  light  of  nature  ;  and 
nature's  light  is  God's  also,  that  lighteth  every  man  that 


6  BONNYBOROUGH. 

cometh  into  the  world,  though  it  be  only  by  his  grace  that 
we  find  it  out  to  be  his  light  and  his  living  love. 

Lyman  Schott  was,  of  course,  baptized  and  nurtured 
according  to  his  mother's  persuasions.  He  accepted,  in 
his  quiet  way,  what  he  had  been  taught,  and  in  the  same 
quietness  and  dependence  had  submitted  himself  in  due 
time  to  the  spiritual  processes  and  helps  that  he  found  at 
work  and  offering  around  him,  and  took  his  Christian 
name  in  simple  earnest  at  nineteen.  It  was  not  the  fault 
of  his  religion  that  he  was  of  but  a  limited  nature ;  with 
out  it,  mere  petty  earthliness  would  have  left  him  really 
pitiful. 

The  second  Mrs.  Schott,  Peace  Polly's  mother,  had  been 
an  Episcopalian.  Her  husband,  being  no  church-member, 
adapted  his  church-going  to  his  wife's,  who  again,  in  her 
different  fashion,  was  zealous  in  her  faith.  And  so  it  was 
that  the  brother  and  sister  held  their  Christianity  under 
different  forms,  and  sometimes,  as  such  very  different  tem 
peraments  and  characters  are  liable  to  do,  attributed  each 
other's  incompatibilities  and  failures  to  the  spiritual  qual 
ity  and  motive,  when  they  were  quite  distinctly  of  the 
flesh  and  its  feebleness.  It  was  odd  that  the  one  who 
took  things  in  grooves  was  the  non-conformist ;  that  the 
other,  striking  out  in  all  things  to  test  and  know  for  her 
self,  was  of  the  order  and  succession. 

"  What  you  want  is  to  experience  religion,"  Lyman  had 
said  to  Peace  Polly  in  some  of  her  tempers. 

And  she  had  retorted,  "  So  I  am  experiencing  it.  That 's 
just  the  trouble.  I  'm  experiencing  it  all  the  tune.  I  can't 
make  it  such  a  short  and  easy  job  as  you  have !  " 

"  If  you  had  a  real  conviction,  Peace  Polly  "  —  began 
Lyman  again,  for  he  felt  it  his  duty;  but  duty  could 
not  carry  the  man  of  slow  and  reluctant  self-utterance 
through  the  sentence.  Polly  snapped  it  up. 


THE   SCHOTTS.  7 

"  I  'm  under  more  conviction  of  sin  every  day  than  you 
ever  had  in  all  your  lif  e !  I  know  every  time  I  'm  ugly, 
—  and  you  don't !  " 

It  was  unrevealed  to  Peace  Polly,  in  her  turn,  that  Ly- 
man  went  away  silently  with  that  sting,  and  took  it  home 
to  himself  in  a  certain  dull  fashion,  which  made  him  qui 
eter  and  more  careful  with  her  for  very  nearly  a  week. 
After  that  the  impression  wore  down,  and  habit  had  its 
way  again. 

"Don't  you  hate  people  that  keep  their  tempers?" 
Peace  Polly  asked  of  her  elder  friend,  Serena  Wyse,  into 
whose  bright  little  kitchen  she  had  run  one  day  with  an 
errand,  and  paused,  as  it  was  her  privilege  and  custom  to 
do,  for  a  bit  of  neighboring  beyond  the  errand. 

Serena  was  the  only  person  Polly  had  to  neighbor  with. 
There  were  others  not  further  off,  geographically;  but 
Peace  Polly  used  to  say  she  didn't  "care  to  run  in, 
where  she  was  n't  in  after  she  got  in."  That  country 
phrase  of  "being  in  with"  people  held  truth  as  con 
cerning  the  intimacy  of  our  tumultuous  Peace  Polly  with 
calm,  considerate  Serena  Wyse,  more  than  a  dozen  years 
her  senior. 

Miss  Serena  was  down  on  her  knees  on  the  hearth  with 
a  dustpan  and  brush,  a  heap  of  sweepings,  and  a  piece 
of  newspaper.  She  did  not  answer  Peace  Polly  at  once, 
but  finished  gathering  her  dust  into  the  pan,  whence  she 
carefully  swept  it  again  upon  the  opened  paper,  and  then 
proceeded  to  roll  it  snugly  up  therein,  making  of  it  a 
tight  little  bundle.  This  she  tucked  under  the  sticks  that 
crossed  each  other  tidily  from  the  bright  andirons  to  the 
clean  red  bricks  below,  ready  for  any  future  fire-lighting. 

Peace  Polly  was  diverted  from  her  subject.  "  Well ! 
is  n't  that  a  way  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  It 's  one  of  my  ways,"  said  Serena.     "  You  get  rid 


8  BONNYBOROUGH. 

of  it.  It  don't  fly  and  scatter  and  come  settlin'  back.  It 's 
bound  to  get  burned  up,  some  time,  and  you  don't  see  it 
waiting.  I  like  things  done  with,  when  they  are  done, 
specially  dirt." 

"  Serena,"  said  the  girl,  "  don't  you  wish  we  could 
sweep  ourselves  out  so  ?  " 

"  And  take  the  trash  up  in  dustpans,  and  bind  it  in 
bundles  to  burn  it  ?  "  answered  Serena,  falling  into  the 
Scripture  word  that  had  said  it  long  before,  and  that  came 
now,  answering  of  true  accord  the  question. 

"  Why,  that 's  it !  "  cried  Peace  Polly.  "  That 's  clear 
ing  up,  and  putting  away.  Not  even  hiding  in  a  dust- 
hole  ;  much  less  putting  in  your  pocket,  Don't  you  hate 
to  have  a  person  '  pocket  an  affront,'  Serena  ?  " 

Again  Serena  did  not  answer  directly.  She  seemed  to 
follow  the  first  word  of  her  companion,  passing  over,  as 
unheard,  the  rest. 

"  Putting  away,"  she  repeated.  "  Don't  everything 
that  comes  up  just  bring  some  bit  of  Bible  with  it,  and 
show  it  new  ?  "  Serena  said  "  niew,"  with  a  trace  of  the 
peculiar  New  England  voweling ;  but  what  does  that  mat 
ter  to  mention,  except  that  we  hear  her  as  she  spoke,  and 
so  as  a  living  voice  ?  "  l  He  put  away  our  sins  by  the  sac 
rifice  of  Himself,'  "  she  quoted,  once  more  involuntarily. 
"  Folks  can't  put  away  ever  so  little  an  affront  without  a 
giving  up.  Somebody  must  give  up,  always,  when  things 
fall  wrong.  I  guess  that 's  to/or-give,  — to  give  for.  We 
could  n't  come  out  of  our  horridness  and  give  up  to  Him, 
till  He  first  come  and  give  up  to  us.  Then  it  was  done. 
It  ain't  even  in  human  nature  to  hold  out  after  that. 
'  While  we  were  yet  sinners,'  "  the  dear  little  woman 
went  on  in  a  low  voice  to  herself,  " '  Christ  died  for 
us.'  " 

There  was  the  great,  blessed  Gospel  in  a  mustard-seed. 


THE   SCHOTTS.  9 

Peace  Polly  was  touched.  But  she  had  a  grievance  ; 
she  had  come  to  her  friend  with  it,  and  she  could  not  go 
away  with  it  as  she  had  come. 

"  The  worst  thing  that  ever  happens,"  she  said  out 
right,  "  is  when  Lyman  begins  to  keep  his  temper  !  It 's 
more  awful  in  the  house  than  a  dynamite  cartridge  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  the  color  was  up  in  Miss  Serena's  face,  and 
her  eyes  flashed. 

Peace  Polly  stared.  Was  there  dynamite  even  here, 
also  ? 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,  but  I  've  known  Lyman 
Schott  all  my  days.  He  's  a  good  man." 

"  It 's  his  goodness  I  can't  have  any  patience  with," 
said  Peace  Polly,  her  tone  lowered.  "  I  wish  you  had 
the  good  of  it  a  while,  Serena,  —  I  just  do.  I  'd  like  to 
see  how  you  'd  make  out  with  it." 

"  I  know  his  ways,  dear,"  said  Serena  Wyse.  "  We 
all  of  us  have  our  ways,  and  most  of  us  have  our  queers. 
But  he  's  a  good  man."  And  Serena's  face  stayed  rosy, 
after  the  rebuking  flash  had  died  down.  She  was  very 
pretty  then,  with  the  pink  tremble  in  her  cheeks  and  the 
blue  sparkle  in  her  eyes,  although  she  was  over  thirty, 
and  nobody  was  likely,  ordinarily,  to  consider  the  whether 
or  no  of  her  prettiness. 

It  came  upon  Polly,  though ;  and  other  things  in  the 
light  of  it.  She  looked  at  Serena  with  what  people  call 
a  blank  surprise,  —  the  blankness  that  intervenes  when 
one  sudden  idea  drives  a  former  out,  but  is  not  defined 
or  clear  enough  to  replace  it. 

"  I  wish  "  —  she  began  to  say,  hastily  ;  and  then  for  a 
wonder  fulfilled  her  name  and  held  her  peace,  took  up 
the  little  pitcher  of  buttermilk  she  had  come  for,  and 
went  off  abruptly. 

Serena  stood  still  a  moment ;  then  she  went  and  hung 


10  BONNYBOROUGH. 

up  her  dustpan  in  the  corner  under  the  shelf.  "  It 's  the 
child's  fashion,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  She  's  got  a  sight 
of  sobering  down  to  do." 

Serena  wist  not  of  the  face-glow,  nor  of  its  lovely  tale- 
telling  of  a  commotion  in  her  life  so  far  off  and  long 
ago. 

As  Peace  Polly  hurried  across  the  field  by  the  diagonal 
footpath  that  gave  the  short  cut  from  Miss  Wyse's  kitchen 
porch  to  their  own,  her  unsettled  trouble  tossed  itself  up 
permost  again  in  her  mind,  and  she  burst  forth,  aloud,  all 
alone,  — 

"  If  anybody  only  knew !  But  nobody  does  —  just 
how  it  is  —  to  me  —  but  me  myself !  " 

One  can't  be  precise  with  the  nominative  case,  when 
holding  one's  self  so  utterly  in  the  objective  with  com 
miseration. 


II. 

THE    KNOLLS. 

GRANDFATHER  SCHOTT  built  his  house  double,  to  ac 
commodate  two  households  of  the  same  family  :  his  own 
and  great-uncle  Aaron's.  He  looked  forward  to  its  serv 
ing  the  same  purpose  for  his  own  two  sons,  Aaron  having 
no  children.  But  only  Joshua,  of  the  two  young  brothers, 
survived  to  occupy  it,  and  to  bring  there  in  succession  his 
two  wives,  as  we  have  seen. 

The  house  was  carefully  planned  and  divided  to  take 
in  the  sunshine  for  its  occupants,  share  and  share  alike  ; 
though  he  who  can  so  build  a  dwelling,  or  order  a  family, 
that  no  one  part  ever  stands  in  the  light  of  any  other  will 
have  achieved  what  was  not  even  attempted  in  the  solar 
system,  which  patiently  suffers  its  eclipses. 

The  old  man  fronted  it  to  the  south,  however ;  and  the 
hall,  which  was  both  common  and  separating,  as  the  sea 
is  to  the  nations,  opened  through  the  middle  ;  a  wide 
parallelogram,  —  or  cubic  space,  taking  in  its  height, — 
of  really  noble  size,  though  plain  as  a  barn  as  to  architec 
tural  adornment.  The  big  staircase  adorned  it  inevitably, 
as  a  generous  smile  graces  a  homely  countenance  ;  it  of 
fered  easy  access  and  welcome  everywhere,  like  the  whole 
hearted  hospitality  of  a  finely  unreserved  nature.  There 
were  private  staircases,  smaller,  one  in  each  independ 
ent  wing.  These  wings  were  curiously  lapped  on  to  the 
central  structure :  the  easterly  one  running  southward, 
and  the  westerly  one  north,  that  each  might  afford  in  its 


12  BONNYBOROUGH. 

projection  the  aspect  denied  in  the  apartments  joining  and 
opening  directly  from  the  hall ;  so  that  each  inmate  had 
east,  south,  and  west  exposures,  advantaged  yet  further  by 
cut-off  corners,  broadly  windowed,  at  all  points  except  the 
northerly  ones.  So  scrupulous  was  the  equality  that  a 
little  corner  bay  jutted  slightly  from  the  west  wing  at  the 
front,  giving  on  that  side  a  slant  bit  to  the  southeast,  oth 
erwise  lacking.  The  building,  therefore,  in  its  initial  plan 
and  chief  outline,  lay  somewhat  like  a  winch,  or  windlass- 
handle,  along  its  green  level,  its  west  wing  running  so 
close  upon  the  quick  ascent  of  a  rugged  knoll  to  the  north 
—  one  of  many  that  gave  a  real,  honest,  time-used  name 
to  the  farmstead  and  property  —  that  it  quite  carried  out 
the  suggestion  of  a  huge  crank  set  there  against  it,  to 
draw  out  of  it  its  treasure,  which  in  good  truth  poured 
forth  from  the  shaded  rock-face,  exactly  opposite,  across 
the  footpath;  namely,  the  clear  water  of  a  mountain  spring 
that  found  its  outlet  here  into  a  basin  built  for  it,  and 
supplied  the  dwellers  in  absolute  untaintedness  with  one 
of  the  two  purest  things  that  God  has  made.  The  other, 
the  sweet  air  of  piny  hills,  came  down  without  conduit  or 
hindrance,  and  swept  about  them  its  invisible,  waving 
mantle  of  life.  It  was  good  to  live  here  at  The  Knolls 
but  that  says  for  itself  in  the  description,  already  too  long, 
perhaps,  for  the  intended  proportions  of  our  story.  I  was 
obliged  to  tell  you,  though,  as  the  fact  of  the  double  home 
stead  had  mainly  to  do  with  the  ordering  of  Peace  Polly's 
life,  —  the  thing  I  hope  you  begin  to  care  for  ;  it  having 
happened,  as  you  perceive,  in  this  third  generation,  that 
Lyman  Schott  and  his  half-sister  came  to  be  the  represen 
tatives  and  successors  of  the  two  family  sides  ;  the  easterly 
half  of  the  mansion  belonging  now  to  the  former,  and  the 
westerly  to  Peace  Polly. 

But  Peace  Polly's  part  was  mostly  left  unused  ;   she 


THE  KNOLLS.  13 

kept  house  for  Lyman  in  the  east  side,  where  they  had 
lived  on,  naturally,  together,  since  their  father  died ; 
Joshua  Schott  having  chosen,  years  before,  when  the 
whole  dwelling  became  his  own  through  the  death  of 
his  Uncle  Aaron,  to  continue  to  abide  toward  the  sun- 
rising,  where  he  had  spent  his  childhood ;  closing  up  the 
other  rooms,  not  needing  or  consenting  to  rent  them,  as 
he  might  very  readily  have  done. 

Her  home  inheritance  seemed,  somehow,  like  Peace 
Polly's  life,  —  hers  and  not  hers.  It  was  shut  up  half 
the  year  round. 

When  the  crocuses  began  to  send  up  their  purple  and 
golden  lances  through  the  brown  beds  below  the  southern 
windows,  and  the  snowdrops  were  trembling  with  their 
delicate  ecstasy  of  life  among  the  grasses  down  under 
neath  the  old  oaks,  and  the  air  came  in  with  a  blessing, 
like  God's  spirit,  wherever  door  or  window  was  unclosed, 
Peace  Polly  was  used  to  throw  open  her  domain  for  its 
spring  airing,  to  go  through  all  its  rooms,  dust  its  hand 
some  old-time  furnishings,  put  white  covers  on  the  tables 
and  chests  of  drawers,  even  blossoms  and  pussy-willows 
in  the  quaint  chimney  vases,  —  cornucopias  of  blue  and 
white  china  that  matched  the  tiles  around  the  fireplaces,  — 
and  unpin  the  curtains  that  had  hung  all  winter  in  the 
chintz  bags  made  for  them  out  of  yet  older  draperies. 
Then  she  would  sit  down  of  a  quiet  morning  with  some 
sewing-work  in  a  southeast  window,  and  play  at  living  in 
her  very  own  home.  Or  at  twilight,  in  the  first  warm 
evenings,  when  the  frogs  were  piping,  and  the  woodcock 
"  seek-seek-seek-ing  "  in  his  flight  above  the  lower  dusks, 
she  would  sit  in  the  wide-open  west  doorway,  listening  to 
it  all,  with  the  chime  of  the  dropping  waters  from  the 
hill-face  into  the  brimming  basin  for  accompaniment,  and 
think,  with  a  strange,  pathetic  fullness  of  delight  and 


14  BONNYBOROUGH. 

longing  all  at  once,  how  lovely  it  all  was,  and  how  happy 
that  it  was  hers,  if  only  she  could  quite  live  in  it  with  any 
real  home-presences  or  uses. 

She  had  had  plans,  of  course ;  Peace  Polly  was  never 
without  a  "  notion,"  as  her  brother  thought.  She  had  pro 
posed  an  old  schoolmate,  or  a  far-off,  unknown  Western 
cousin,  or  even  a  boarder  or  two,  as  summer  visitants  ; 
but  Lyman  always  quietly  answered,  "  You  can  do  what 
you  like  with  your  own,  of  course.  Rebeccarabby  can 
take  care  of  me ;  or  I  can  get  my  meals  at  the  tavern." 

If  he  had  said,  "  I  don't  like  it ;  I  don't  want  com 
pany,  and  I  do  want  you,"  Peace  Polly  would  hardly 
have  minded  the  refusal.  It  would  at  least  have  put  a 
motive  and  a  consciousness  of  worthy  self-denial  to  her 
relinquishment.  After  all,  what  the  girl  wanted  most 
restlessly  was  a  raison  d'etre;  a  theory  of  her  life  by 
which  she  could  give  account  of  herself  to  herself,  by 
which  she  could  make  it  out  worth  while  to  be. 

She  was  ready  to  take  almost  any  view  of  it,  and  val 
iantly  live  it  out,  could  it  once  present  itself  in  coherent 
shape,  and  she  recognize  herself  set  in  it,  as  in  lawful 
allotted  surrounding,  like  any  sort  of  person  that  had  a 
place  and  character,  real,  or  among  those  she  had  read 
about.  She  wanted  to  read  some  sort,  almost  any  sort, 
of  story  of  herself.  But  not  to  have  a  story,  not  to  make 
any  picture,  any  likeness  of  anything  in  heaven  or  earth, 
to  be  as  a  ghost  without  a  body,  looking  on  at  life,  —  this 
was  the  strange  hardness  of  it.  These  were  the  kind  of 
things  she  used  to  say  to  herself ;  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  was  a  mere  negative,  a  being  without  end,  cause,  or 
effect,  so  far  as  satisfying  purpose,  action,  or  rewarding 
accomplishment  were  concerned. 

Rebeccarabby,  or  Rabby,  condensed  for  use  from  double 
name  of  patriarchess  and  prophetess,  could  have  baked 


THE  KNOLLS.  15 

and  boiled,  darned  and  swept,  for  Lyman,  undoubtedly ; 
whether  she  would  or  no,  were  Peace  Polly  withdrawn, 
might  become  another  question.  So  that  if  Peace  Polly 
effected  anything  essential,  it  was  simply  that,  by  presence 
and  female  headship  of  the  house,  she  kept  Rebeccarabby 
at  her  post  and  in  her  round.  All  her  own  housewifery  — 
and  she  was  by  no  means  idle  —  was  but  as  work  of  su 
pererogation  ;  her  sacrifice  but  the  acceptance  of  a  com 
fortable  home  and  the  saving  of  her  own  little  income 
for  wider  margin  in  mere  personal  ways,  or  for  a  future 
benefit.  So  she  thought  it  looked  to  Lyman ;  and  so  it 
did ;  yet  when  she  ventured  any  suggestion  of  a  different 
plan,  as  we  have  seen,  it  was,  "  Oh,  yes  ;  I  can  go  to  the 
tavern."  Which  altogether  miserable  condition  and  alter 
native  (Rebeccarabby  would  have  said,  not  inappositely, 
"fraternity")  drove  her  back  to  her  unrecognized  self- 
immolation,  her  fifth-wheel  circumvolution,  and  her  ache 
of  uncontent. 

"  It  is  company  I  want,  not  visitors ;  and  he  does  n't 
see  it,  nor  help  it.  He  's  got  his  mill ;  all  he  wants  here 
is  his  bed  made,  and  his  table  set,  and  his  newspaper, 
and  the  cat.  And  I  may  grind  my  heart  out,  for  my 
share." 

This  was  what  Peace  Polly  said  to  herself  one  April 
evening,  sitting,  as  I  have  spoken  of  her,  at  the  west  door. 
She  had  not  many  conversations,  you  will  perceive,  in 
these  days  ;  we  shall  have  to  depend  a  good  deal,  as  she 
did,  upon  her  soliloquies. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  'm  turning  into  a  cross  old  maid  ? 
Looks  like  it.  I  wonder  what  crossness  really  is  ;  whether 
it 's  sinning  or  being  sinned  against,  mostly  ?  Things  are 
crossed  —  or  people  —  when  they  go  different  ways.  I 
don't  think  it's  I  that  do  the  crossing  always.  Any 
body  can  be  comfortable  and  good-natured  that  has  their 


16  BONNYBOROUGH. 

way  laid  right  along  with  the  grain  of  the  world.  But 
when  everything  is  put  athwart,  you  're  'thrawn,'  you  're 
'curst,'  — that 's  the  Scotch  and  the  Shakespeare  of  it,  — 
and  how  can  you  help  it  ?  I  '11  just  ask  Serena  Wyse." 

As  she  sat  on  the  broad  sill,  with  her  chin  in  her  hands, 
her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  feet  on  the  big,  irreg 
ular  flat  doorstone,  she  did  not  notice  Lyman,  coming  in 
his  slippers  over  the  carpeted  floor  of  the  room  behind 
her.  Behind  Lyman  walked  the  cat,  also  in  her  slippers. 
She  came  up  to  him  as  he  stopped  in  the  passageway, 
and  rubbed  her  head  against  his  leg.  Lyman  stooped 
down  and  lifted  her  up.  He  held  her  on  his  arm  and 
stroked  her  softly,  as  he  spoke  to  Peace,  startling  her  out 
of  her  deep  thinking. 

"  Did  you  remember  about  my  thin  overcoat  ?  "  he 
asked,  not  unpleasantly,  yet  to  Peace  Polly's  ear  with  the 
indefinable  tone  of  expectation  on  the  wrong  side  ;  namely, 
that  she  should  not  have  remembered,  especially  —  so 
Peace  Polly  imagined  he  was  thinking  —  since  he  found 
her  here  in  her  newly-opened  territories,  with  the  pretty 
evidences  of  her  day's  work  about  her. 

"  I  did,"  answered  Peace  Polly,  with  a  short  dignity. 
"  I  lined  the  sleeves  and  faced  the  collar.  It  is  hanging 
in  the  back  hall." 

"  All  right,"  rejoined  Lyman.  There  was  no  more 
"  thank  you  "  in  his  words  than  there  had  been  "  I  did  it 
with  a  pleasure,  and  you  're  welcome,"  in  Peace  Polly's. 

Lyman  stood  still,  and  went  on  stroking  the  cat.  "  It 's 
pretty  near  tea-time,"  he  said. 

Yes,  that  was  the  next  thing ;  nothing  that  in  the 
mean  while  occupied  or  interested  Peace  Polly  held  any 
corresponding  import  or  interest  for  him. 

The  girl  half  turned  and  looked  up. 

The  cat  in  his  arms  was  an  offense  to  her.     She  did 


THE  KNOLLS.  17 

not  understand,  perhaps,  that  a  certain  gentleness  in  his 
nature  that  failed  to  express  itself  readily  to  her  or  any 
other  human  being  took  this  roundabout  method  of  making 
known  a  mood  of  mind  which  she  might  have  accepted, 
if  she  could  have  discerned  it  under  the  oblique  sign.  It 
was  not  in  Lyman's  way  to  caress,  or  say  soft  things, 
—  to  people.  He  could  stroke  the  cat  as  accompaniment 
to  an  ordinary,  practical  remark,  which  really  carried 
covertly  something  of  the  complacency,  if  not  endearment, 
with  it,  over  pussy's  head ;  but  not  every  one  —  certainly 
not  Peace  Polly  —  could  take  the  delicate  indirection. 

"  Nice  day,  and  time  o'  day,  your  side  of  the  house," 
attempted  Lyman,  again,  not  quite  satisfied,  doubtless, 
with  words  as  they  were. 

Peace  Polly  made  no  answer  for  a  moment.  There 
was  this  excuse  for  her  :  the  cat  was  an  especial  offense 
to-day.  Lyman  had  cosseted  her  at  breakfast,  and  emp 
tied  the  cream  pitcher  into  a  saucer  for  her,  not  discrim 
inating  between  the  two  small  jugs  of  cream  and  milk  ; 
and  afterward  he  had  pushed  away  his  second  cup  of  cof 
fee  with  marked  dissatisfaction. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  pour  out  as  good  a  cup 
the  second  time  as  the  first,"  he  had  saidv  petulantly. 

"  Because  you  poured  out  all  the  cream  for  Zero,  before 
I  'd  had  one  cup,"  she  added,  with  meek  quenching. 

"  Coffee  don't  depend  on  cream,"  the  man  said ;  wildly, 
as  any  woman  knows.  But  then  a  man  hardly  ever  un 
derstands  about  the  cream  in  his  cup,  or  how  it  gets 
there,  in  whatever  sense.  "  Has  n't  got  any  life  in  it,  any 
way,"  Lyman  went  on  declaring,  "  and  the  last  half  's 
always  muddy.  Think  you  might  help  it,  if  you  tried." 

Then  he  punished  her  still  further  by  getting  up  and 
going  off  without  his  second  cup,  or  the  last  muffin  that 
he  had  just  buttered. 


18  BONNYBOROUGH. 

And  Peace  Polly  was  "just  fool  enough,"  as  she  said 
to  herself,  to  be  punished  by  his  unreasonable  self-priva 
tion.  So  she  laid  up  the  grievance  in  her  heart,  and 
"  mulled  over  it  "  all  day,  against  both  Lyman  and  Zero. 

Now,  in  the  twilight,  the  day's  work  and  worries  over, 
—  particularly  since  the  assurance  that  the  coat-linings 
had  been  duly  repaired,  —  Lyman  inclined  in  his  fashion 
to  make  amity.  He  waited  even  through  that  minute  of 
silence  in  which  he  had  been  left  unanswered. 

Then  Polly's  shoulder  turned  a  little  toward  him,  and 
her  great  brown  eyes  were  slowly  lifted  over  it,  aslant. 
There  was  a  pain  in  them,  but  it  looked  to  him  like  sul- 
lenness. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  if  I  were  a  cat  I  might 
get  stroked  a  little." 

Lyman  laughed. 

"  Don't  know,"  he  said,  tickling  Zero's  ears.  "  Fur  too 
full  of  sparks,  perhaps.  Dangerous." 

There  were  sparks  in  the  brown  eyes,  then ;  and  they 
flashed  away  from  him,  and  head  and  shoulder  went 
quickly  round,  away. 

"  Pussy  has  n't  any  other  way  of  knowing  that  you 
care  for  her,". pursued  Lyman,  not  unpacifically,  Polly 
should  have  owned. 

"  Yes,  she  has  !  "  she  retorted :  "  she  's  fed,  and  lodged, 
and  allowed  to  sit  round  and  rub  her  paws,  if  she  be 
haves  well ;  and  if  she  don't,  she  's  scatted.  1  'm  sure  she 
has  everything  reasonable  that  anybody  has,  and  the 
stroking  besides  ;  and  I  'm  lonesomer  than  any  old  cat 
that  ever  crept  off  under  a  woodpile  !  "  she  finished  with 
rapid  crescendo. 

Polly  had  never  quite  distinctly  said  that  before.  It 
was  as  if  her  heart  had  burst  out  of  her  all  at  once. 
Lyman  was  taken  by  surprise.  The  queer,  impetuous 


THE  KNOLLS.  19 

illustration  conveyed  to  him,  perhaps,  more  of  his  little 
sister's  real  experience  than  anything  else  had  ever  yet 
done. 

Howbeit,  he  was  patient  to-night ;  and  he  stood  still, 
while  Peace  Polly's  head  went  down  upon  her  knees,  and 
the  grieved  and  angry  sobs  broke  forth. 

She  knew  that  Lyman  still  stood  beside  her.  She 
thought  she  knew  that  he  was  "keeping  his  temper." 
"  You  can  go  away,"  she  cried,  "  I  'm  used  to  it !  I 
never  have  anybody  to  go  to  but  old  Serena  Wyse." 

If  she  had  seen  Lyman  Schott's  face  then,  and  the 
change  upon  it,  as  she  waywardly  and  quite  insincerely 
vented  all  her  bitterness  upon  dear  Miss  Serena's  name, 
making  of  her  such  contemptuous  exception,  she  would 
not  have  accused  him  of  any  forced  placidity.  The  blood 
mounted  darkly  in  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  glowed  as 
men's  eyes  do,  where  women's  only  flash. 

"  Serena  Wyse  is  a  good  friend,"  said  slow  Lyman  ; 
and  his  tone  made  the  girl  lift  up  her  head  and  cease  sob 
bing.  "  I  would  n't  be  treacherous  and  double-faced,  if  I 
were  you,  Peace  Polly !  " 

He  was  too  displeased  to  say  "  Pease  Porridge ;  "  and 
he  went  away  with  a  force  in  his  tread  that  was  quite 
unlike  the  footsteps  of  his  coming.  The  dynamite  car 
tridge  had  exploded.  Peace  Polly  knew  that  Lyman  was 
dreadfully  angry.  The  reaction  of  remorse  that  had  al 
ready  set  in  upon  her  when  she  had  cried  and  flung  out 
that  reckless  last  bit  of  temper  was'  intensified,  while  it 
was  suddenly  petrified  by  dismay. 

And  yet,  —  was  n't  it  queer  how  those  two  could  flare 
up  about  each  other  ! 

Peace  Polly  laughed ;  and  then  put  down  her  head, 
and  cried  again. 

Of  course   she  was  ridiculous,  and  a  wicked  little  ter- 


20  BONNYBOROUGH. 

magant,  and  one  of  those  women  that  men  are  tradition 
ally  perplexed  and  tormented  with.  But  after  all,  if 
men  —  brothers,  husbands,  sons-in-law,  the  proverbial 
sufferers  —  could  just  once  get  inside  a  woman's  real 
heart,  and  feel  as  she  does  ! 

"  I  want  somebody  that  I  can  look  way  up  to ! " 
Peace  Polly  had  cried  out,  times  before,  to  Serena  Wyse, 
and  Serena  had  answered  her  :  — 

"  If  it  is  only  some  human  body,  you  must  just  look  up 
to  the  highest  there  is  in  them,  for  it  is  all  you  can  get." 

But  the  little  things  were  continually  forcing  them 
selves  in  sight,  and  Polly  was  pained  and  provoked,  and 
made  to  feel  the  littleness  and  failure  in  herself,  and  that 
all  her  sight  and  contact  were  just  in  the  region  of  the 
low  and  disappointing,  though  she  might  all  the  while  be 
lieve  far  better  in  herself  and  in  the  only  one  she  had  to 
love  find  lean  on. 

"  If  people  want  you  to  know  how  pleasant  it  is  up 
stairs,  why  don't  they  open  the  doors  and  windows,  and 
ask  you  up  there  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 


III. 

SPACE   AND   EMPTINESS. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like  with  your  own,  you  know/* 
Lyman  repeated  to  her  the  next  morning,  beginning  just 
where  he  had  left  off,  as  if  the  thought  had  been  with 
him  overnight,  and  had  wrought  slowly  to  some  definite 
decision.  "  And  perhaps  it  would  be  well  enough  for  both 
of  us,  if  you  were  to  try  it  for  a  while." 

Peace  Polly's  head  went  up  quickly,  and  her  face  lit 
with  surprise. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  really,  and  in  good  will  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  have  n't  any  ill  will,"  he  answered,  stiffly.  "  If  you 
've  had  enough  of  me  —  and  the  rest  of  your  friends  "  — — 

"  Lyman  !  that 's  just  it !  Why  won't  you  understand  ? 
I  have  n't  had  half  enough  of  you !  You  don't  let  me. 
You  're  off  at  the  mill  all  day,  and  you  bring  home  a 
chip  with  a  lot  of  figures  on  it,  and  sit  calculating  boards 
and  feet  and  things,  all  the  evening  ;  and  everything  you 
do  say  to  me  has  some  kind  of  a  little  m-iserable  nick  in 
it !  You  know  I  hate  nicks !  I  'd  rather  every  dish  in 
the  house  would  be  broken  in  a  heap !  " 

Polly  came  near  saying  "  mean  ; "  when  she  made  it 
into  "miserable,"  she  was  trying  to  be  amiable.  Under 
the  circumstances  this  was  the  nearest  she  could  come 
to  it.  And  it  was  all  Greek  and  tantrums  to  Lyman 
Schott. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  're  lonesome,  exactly,"  he  said. 


22  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  You  've  got  Rabby  here  in  the  house,  and  "  —  But  he 
would  not  mention  Miss  Serena  again. 

"  Rebeccarabby !  with  the  manners  of  a  cyclone  !  "  cried 
Peace  Polly.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  can  sit  down  and  take 
my  comfort  with  her  ?  "  and  feeling  the  storm  signals  up 
in  her  cheeks,  and  that  she  herself  was  very  near  being 
tempestuous  again,  she  went  off  with  sudden  impulse  out 
of  the  room ;  while  the  cyclone,  with  curious  coincidence, 
hurtled  in  at  the  very  moment  through  an  opposite  door. 

"  Say  !  "  vociferated  Rebeccarabby.  "  Peace  Polly ! 
Lor',  she  ain't  here,  is  she  ?  I  was  jest  goin'  to  ask  if 
you  'd  have  dumplin's  for  dinner ;  'cause  th'  iz  lamb  fry, 
and  they  goes  good  after  that,  you  know."  And  the  door 
slammed  on  the  last  syllable,  as  the  whirlwind  withdrew 
herself,  and  was  heard  instantly  on  the  other  side,  effec 
tive  amongst  pots  and  pans. 

"  The  woman  is  like  a  hurricane  in  the  house,  when 
you  notice  it,  that 's  a  fact,"  said  Lyman  to  himself, 
picking  up  his  hat  and  his  papers,  and  a  penciled  wooden 
slip  such  as  Polly  had  reproached  him  with.  "  But  why 
don't  Polly  learn  her  better  ?  " 

He  was  off,  in  his  turn,  down  to  his  planing-mill. 

It  seems,  really,  as  if  some  men  —  or  men,  sometimes  — 
regarded  their  dearest  womankind  as  only  of  use  when 
they  have  a  blame  to  fling,  or  a  perplexity  they  cannot 
answer.  "Why  doesn't  she  do  this,  or  prevent  that ?" 
They  have  no  other  way  of  dismissing  a  difficulty  which 
does  not  lie  in  their  capacity  or  province,  and  before 
which  they  are  helpless.  Nevertheless,  precisely  because 
it  is  in  the  woman's  province,  to  her  thwart  or  chafing, 
the  man  can  usually  take  his  hat  and  escape  from  it. 

Pease  Porridge,  up  in  her  own  room,  vigorously  bestir 
ring  herself  in  making  up  the  dainty  white  bed,  whose 
spreadings  she  pulled  in  from  the  open,  sunny  window 


SPACE  AND  EMPTINESS.  23 

where  they  had  grown  fresh  and  warm  and  sweet  as 
common  "laundrying"  scarcely  makes  them,  was  work 
ing  off  the  storm-danger  and  getting  down  the  signals, 
bringing  her  ideas  to  shape  at  the  same  time  under  the 
unexpected  concession  and  opportunity. 

"  I  '11  take  him  at  his  word,  whatever  he  meant,"  she 
said  in  her  mind,  which  external  operative  part  of  her 
always  took  a  conversational  turn  with  her  remoter,  in 
ward  self.  "  And  he  shall  see.  He  thinks  I  want  a 
house  and  a  summer-time  like  the  Cramhalls' ;  a  lot  of 
half -rate  city  folks,  with  wild  bangs  and  water-cart 
whiskers,  racketing  about  and  taking  possession,  as  if 
they  'd  found  a  deserted  village,  or  a  primeval  solitude, 
and  we  were  all  nothing  but  invisible  ghosts,  or  mur 
muring  pines  and  hemlocks.  But  there  are  nice  people 
who  want  pleasant  homes,  to  stay  right  on  in  ;  quiet 
widow-ladies,  with  young-girl  daughters,  may  be!  and 
dear,  sweet  spinster-women,  like  Miss  Thurleigh,  who 
stayed  with  —  There  !  if  I  don't,  just ! " 

And  the  white  quilt  was  tucked  down,  "  pincushion 
smooth,"  and  the  pillows  placed,  and  their  frilled  spreads 
laid  over,  even  to  a  half-line,  in  another  minute  and  a 
half ;  and  in  as  much  more  Peace  Polly's  hat  and  jacket 
were  on,  and  she  down  the  stairs  and  out  at  the  back  door, 
Rebeccarabby  pealing  after  her  through  the  kitchen  win 
dow  with  the  dinner  question. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  anything  you  like ;  -anything  —  but 
dumps  !  " 

Lyman  Schott  would  have  given  a  snip  off  the  end  of 
his  little  finger  to  have  had  as  pat  a  retorting  word  al 
ways  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue  when  he  wanted  it ;  usually 
he  could  only  keep  his  temper  with  a  very  visible  might, 
and  make  "  nicks." 

Peace  Polly  was  gayly  out  of  the  dumps  and  doldruma 


24  BONNYBOROUGH. 

now,  her  spirit  sails  filling  with  the  breeze  of  a  bright 
new  purpose  that  carried  her  straight  over,  in  the  very 
first  place,  to  Serena  Wyse. 

"It  will  be  better  for  both  of  us  ;  for  him,  as  well  as 
for  me.  He  said  so.  And  I  've  always  known  it.  And 
if  it  should  happen  to  come  about,  in  the  chances  and 
changes  —  But  I  won't  think  of  it  now  ;  I  must  n't  have 
that  in  my  face  !  "  she  said,  as  she  stepped  lightly  upon 
Miss  Serena's  doorstone.  She  quite  forgot,  in  the  elation 
of  her  new  project,  that  it  had  begun  in  a  disagreement. 

Serena  Wyse  was  showering  her  plants  with  a  whisk- 
broom.  She  had  a  deep  window  —  not  a  bay,  but  a 
chimney  recess,  all  window  toward  the  sun  —  full  of  them  ; 
and  an  oilcloth  on  the  floor  beneath  gave  the  most  de 
lightful  liberty  for  spatters,  and  glistened,  itself,  with  all 
its  bright  tile-colors,  in  the  freshness. 

Peace  Polly  stood  still  in  the  doorway.  "  Oh  dear,  you 
never  will,  I  'm  afraid  !  "  she  said. 

"  Never  what,  —  and  why  not  ?  "  asked  Serena,  turn 
ing  round. 

"  What  I  came  brimful  of,  and  because  you  're  so  — 
wretchedly  —  cosy  and  complete  right  here  !  "  said  Peace 
Polly.  "  But  I  've  got  sunny  windows,  too,  lots  of  'em  ; 
and  you  might  do  what  you  liked  with  the  carpets !  " 

"  Dear  child  !  what  in  the  world  are  you  driving  at, 
with  the  bits  in  your  hands,  and  the  reins  between  the 
horse's  teeth  ?  "  asked  Serena,  to  whom  comparisons  came 
naturally,  and  often  oddly. 

"  At  you,"  returned  the  girl.  "  I  tell  you  I  'm  full  of 
it.  Did  n't  Mr.  Thurleigh  want  to  hire  your  house  on  a 
lease  ? " 

"  Mark  Thurleigh  ?     Yes." 

"  And  did  n't  you  say  once  that  if  you  could  move 
yourself  as  they  move  buildings  now,  slide  right  along 


SPACE  AND  EMPTINESS.  25 

somewhere  with  your  own  special  particulars  all  standing 
about  you,  like  your  life  on  a  tray,  and  be  set  down  easy, 
you  might  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  did,  just  because  I  could  n't,"  said  Se 
rena. 

"  Well,  then,  you  can,"  returned  Peace  Polly,  victori 
ously.  "  And  you  can  bring  Miss  Thurleigh  too.  That 's 
part  of  it.  And  I  know  Miss  Thurleigh  wants  just  that, 
to  live  close  to  her  brother's  big  family,  and  not  in  the 
melee." 

"  My  dear  Peace  Polly  !  what  are  you  laying  out  for 
me  ?  And  can't  you  come  a  little  further  in  ?  " 

Polly  had  stood  all  this  while  upon  the  threshold. 

"  I  might,  yes.  Only  that  would  emphasize  the  set 
tled-down  expression,  and  I  want  things  to  look  transi- 
tionary  to  you  !  " 

"  They  look  pretty  incomprehensible,  as  you  signify 
them." 

"  Serena !  would  you  come  and  live  with  me,  in  my 
side  of  the  house  ?  Oh,  I  want  you  so  !  But,  wait  a 
minute !  that 's  just  as  true  as  truth.  I  love  you,  and  I 
want  you ;  and  yet,  I  got  provoked  last  night,  and  told 
Lyman  I  had  n't  anybody  to  go  to  —  but  — i  old  Serena 
Wyse ' !  Now  you  know.  It  would  be  double-faced  to 
ask  you  without  telling !  " 

"  Then  it 's  a  quarrel  again,  Pease  Porridge  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  no, 'tis  n't,  either.  Lyman  was  mad, — I 
never  saw  him  real  fiery  before,  —  when  I  said  that." 

"  What  for  ?  "  As  Serena  asked  that  question,  she  got 
round  between  the  window  and  her  flower-stand,  begin 
ning  to  sprinkle  again.  The  richly  twisted  sprays  of  a 
trellised  ivy,  glittering  with  the  shower  she  gave  them, 
shielded  her  face  from  Peace  Polly. 

"  Oh,  not  that  I  disparaged  his  company.     He  blazed 


26  BONNYBOROUGH. 

right  up  about  you.     You  were  my  — no,  a  good  friend, 
he  said  ;  and  I  was  treacherous  and  double-faced." 

"To  caU  me  old?"  asked  Miss  Serena,  with  a  sweet 
kind  of  dwelling  upon  the  word,  as  if  she  had  learned 
already  to  dwell  upon  it  with  a  secret  gladness.  There 
was  a  sudden  depth  in  her  voice,  also,  like  the  trembling 
resonance  of  a  rich  note  of  music.  "  When  to  grow  old, 
in  so  many  things,  is  to  grow  safe,  and  privileged,  and 
sure  ?  An  old  friend,  —  why,  Polly,  a  seed-sapling  starts 
up  in  a  summer,  and  a  hundred  things  may  happen  to  nip 
it  off;  but  an  old  tree!  you  must  wait  years  for  it,  to 
have  or  to  be;  but  then  it's  there,  rooted  and  certain, 
and  not  likely  to  be  transplanted.  I  ain't  a  bit  afraid  of 
being  old,  Peace  Polly." 

What  made  her  words  ripple  so  like  a  spring-time 
brook  ?  Peace  Polly  wondered. 

"  Then  you  will  come  and  live  with  me  a  while  ?  "  she 
asked,  eagerly,  taking  the  delayed  "  no  "  for  a  good  an 
swer. 

The  real  answer  came  so  fore-concluded,  so  as  if  nearly 
needless,  and  only  transposed  by  the  quite  different  thing 
that  had  essentially  mattered  in  what  had  been,  that  it 
shut  down  Peace  Polly's  hopes  with  sheer  surprise  of  sim 
ple,  indisputable  denial. 

"  Why,  no,  indeed  !  To  put  you  and  Lyman  apart  ? 
How  could  you  think  of  it,  Peace  Polly  ?  "  said  Serena 
Wyse. 

Then  Polly  surprised  and  shocked  her  friend. 
She  came  in,  and  sat  down,  without  saying  a  word. 
She  laid  her  hands,  palms  up,  into  her  lap,  as  if  she  had 
surrendered  something  out  of  them,  and  knew  of  nothing 
else  to  turn  to  and  take  up.  Her  eyes  lowered,  and  fixed 
themselves  upon  the  floor ;  her  lips  drooped  sadly  at  the 
corners  ;  all  the  light  and  gladness  went  out  of  her  face  ; 


SPACE  AND  EMPTINESS.  27 

the  shadow  of  what  she  would  be  when  she  was  old  crept 
over  it. 

Serena  watched  her  a  minute,  troubled  for  her,  amazed 
that  she  could  so  have  put  her  heart  upon  a  sudden,  wild, 
most  uncertain  idea ;  then  she  came  and  stood  by  her  and 
said  gently :  — 

"  Why,  child,  what  is  it  ?  How  can  it  be  so  with  you 
about  a  thing  like  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  God  means  to  give  me  anything  !  " 
said  Peace  Polly. 

Serena  left  that  word  vibrating  on  the  air.  It  might 
itself  recoil  upon  the  waywardness  that  dared  to  utter  it. 
She  would  not  hinder  with  any  small  reproof.  She  went 
back  and  finished  ordering  her  plants ;  with  a  little  mop 
she  wiped  up  the  water  from  the  pretty  oilcloth  ;  then 
she  came  toward  Peace  Polly  again,  and  said,  quietly :  — 
"  Unless  you  will  come  upstairs  with  me,  I  must  say 
good-by.  I  've  got  a  cupboard  I  'm  going  to  empty  out, 
this  morning.  It 's  a  grand  large  one,  with  doors  open 
ing  away  back,  fronting  the  light ;  but  there  's  only  odds 
and  ends  in  it,  and  there  are  some  of  my  best  treasures 
I  've  been  wanting  to  put  in." 

Peace  Polly  was  as  quick  to  see  as  she  was  to  say. 
She  stood  up.  "  If  I  thought  that  was  what  it  was  all 
for  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  The  more  room,  the  fuller  we  shall  be  filled.  The 
Lord  does  n't  make  space  to  put  in  emptiness.  Wait  and 
see ;  you  're  only  twenty,  and  if  't  was  eighty  it  would 
make  no  difference,"  said  Serena  Wyse. 


IV. 

WHY   TODAY? 

IT  was  to  be  a  day  of  amazements  for  Serena,  usually 
so  undisturbed  in  her  established  quietudes. 

In  the  afternoon,  Lyman  Schott  himself  walked  in. 

He  did  everything  just  as  if  it  were  a  daily  doing,  let 
it  be  never  so  startling  a  departure,  in  the  eyes  of  other 
people,  from  his  accustomed  lines.  It  became  accustomed 
as  soon  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  it.  As  soon  as  he 
had  determined,  in  his  deliberate  fashion,  upon  any  act, 
it  was  to  him  as  a  long-foreseen,  inevitable  procedure, 
however  contradictory  to  habit,  or  even  to  previous  clear 
intention  from  which  such  habit  might  have  grown.  There 
are  some  people  who  have  time,  —  time  being  only  a  rela 
tive  thing,  —  during  the  processes  which  lead  them,  men 
tally  or  circumstantially,  to  a  new  attitude  or  purpose,  to 
get  wonted  to  it  in  the  acceptance,  recognizing  it  as  a 
lawful  sequent  to  whatever  may  have  gone  before,  and  as 
an  altogether  natural  link  between  the  past  and  the  to  be, 
sharply  as  these  may  appear  to  contrast  with  each  other. 
They  can  by  no  means  so  follow  the  gradations  in  the 
reasonings  and  conclusions  of  others  :  to  them,  results  as 
presented  in  action  are  often  quite  whimsical  and  irra 
tional  ;  things  jumped  at,  they  suppose,  without  reflection, 
since  the  reflections  necessary  have  not  passed  through  the 
convolutions  of  their  own  brains. 

Peace  Polly  would  have  been  as  much  astonished  to 
see,  if  she  had  happened  to  see  it,  her  undeviating  brother, 


WHY  TO-DAY?  29 

at  four  in  the  afternoon,  away  from  his  mill  and  knock 
ing  at  Miss  Serena's  great,  fan-lighted,  seldom-used  front 
door,  as  he  had  ever  been  at  any  of  her  own  escapades  or 
delirious  propositions. 

Miss  Serena  herself,  when  she  heard  the  knocker  sound 
ing  its  summons  away  through  the  closed  hall  and  up  the 
dim  old  staircase,  which  led,  indeed,  to  the  door  of  her 
own  room  on  the  one  side,  but  which,  with  its  protracted 
following  of  the  whole  lengths  of  wall  on  either  hand, 
and  its  midway  landing  crossing  the  end  space  between, 
she  had  long  neglected  as  a  transit,  in  favor  of  what  she 
called  the  "  lightning-rod,"  a  steep  little  corkscrew  twisted 
in  the  corner  of  a  chimney-side  passage,  and  leading  to 
her  kitchen,  —  when  she  heard  the  knock,  I  say,  and 
glanced  from  her  front  window  to  see  Lyman  standing 
upon  the  stoop,  she  fairly  rubbed  her  eyes  and  stared  a 
minute,  as  in  a  sudden  trance,  before  she  turned  and  went 
down  quickly,  threading  hall  and  old  state  staircase  to 
and  fro,  like  a  slender  shuttle  rushing  across  an  enormous 
loom. 

In  that  minute  of  wonder,  she  had  had  a  certain  Rip 
Van  Winkle  experience  of  bewilderment.  Was  every 
thing  suddenly  set  back  again  to  a  dozen  years  ago  ? 

Just  so  Lyman  Schott  used  to  come  over,  when  that 
wide  doorway  was  wont  to  stand  pleasantly  open,  and  the 
great  stairs  were  the  family  highway ;  when  the  house 
was  full  of  girls,  her  sisters  and  their  frequent  guests, 
before  deaths  and  departures  had  left  her,  like  Lyman 
and  Peace  Polly,  to  the  sole  use  of  the  dwelling,  far  too 
large  for  her,  and  the  dexterous  winding  of  herself  up 
and  down  the  "  lightning-rod,"  in  the  busy  solitude  of  her 
own  affairs  between  her  sleeping-room  and  kitchen.  Just 
so  he  used  to  knock,  two  moderate  taps  of  equal  force, 
like  a  printed  colon ;  only  then  he  almost  always,  after 


30  BONNYBOROUGH. 

that  notice  of  approach,  had  used  to  step  right  inside. 
Now  he  waited,  as  indeed  he  must,  the  big  bolt  within 
being  fast  in  its  place.  The  house  door  opening  toward 
the  north,  Serena  had  not  Peace  Polly's  inducement  to  let 
the  early  summer-time  in  by  the  less  frequented  way.  It 
was  only  in  the  heats  of  later  June,  and  on,  then,  through 
July  and  August,  that  it  offered  comfortable  refuge  and 
escape  from  the  southerly  blaze,  and  a  shaded  daylight 
for  her  afternoon  occupations,  which  she  would  bring  into 
its  cool  breadth  of  entrance. 

If  Serena  had  not  understood  Lyman  Schott  as  per 
fectly  as  she  did,  she  would  not,  in  that  little  flight  of 
hers  to  left  and  right  down  the  stairway,  have  so  put  by 
her  bewilderment,  and  joined  fact  to  fact  across  the  years, 
almost  as  he  did,  as  to  receive  him  so  entirely  after  the 
fashion  of  his  coming.  Pulling  aside  the  heavy  bolt  with 
one  hand,  and  turning  the  handle  —  not  a  knob,  but  a 
great  stirrup-like  pendant  matching  the  knocker,  that  had 
to  be  grasped  and  twisted  —  with  the  other,  she  stood  face 
to  face  with  him  in  an  instant,  without  the  shadow  of  even 
a  receding  surprise,  and  said,  "  Good  afternoon,  Lyman," 
just  as  if  he  had  been  there  twice  before  that  day. 

And  just  as  if  he  belonged  there,  Lyman  walked  in, 
scarcely  waiting  her  showing,  turning  to  the  little  parlor 
on  the  left  with  the  habit  of  twelve  years  before. 

"  You  don't  make  this  the  family  entrance  very  much 
now,  perhaps,"  he  said. 

Serena  laughed.  "  I  'm  the  family,  you  know.  It  only 
needs  a  *  little  hole  for  the  kitten.'  " 

Lyman  did  not  at  once  take  the  chair  Serena  offered 
him.  He  walked  across  the  room  to  the  window  that  with 
a  deep  recessed  seat  looked  out  into  the  old-fashioned 
flower  and  fruit  garden,  and  beyond  that  to  his  own  gar 
den  grounds,  with  the  winding  footpath  grooving  the  field- 


WHY  TO-DAY?  31 

way  between.  A  grassed  alley,  with  hedges  of  currant 
on  either  side,  intersected  Miss  Serena's  garden,  running 
straight  from  opposite  this  window  to  where,  through  a 
gate  in  the  paling  fence  at  the  foot,  it  struck  upon  a  curv 
ing  of  the  outside  path. 

"  There  are  easy  ways  enough  between  your  house  and 
mine,"  said  Lyman;  "but  Pease  Porridge  seems  to  make 
most  use  of  them.  I  came  round  from  the  mill  this  time 
by  the  hill  road." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Lyman.  You  're  a  busy  man  in 
these  days.  Have  you  got  your  new  chiselers  in  for  the 
fine  mouldings  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  they  're  going  to  work  first-rate.  How  did 
you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  people  tell.  They  all  say  you  're  doing  grandly, 
too.  I  hope  you  're  keeping  your  parallel  lines  ?  " 

Lyman  looked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way.  He  had  a  good 
deal  to  do  with  parallel  lines,  but  it  was  all  by  machinery. 
If  they  ran  at  all,  of  course  they  ran  true.  Serena  meant 
something  else  than  this,  —  he  could  guess  of  what  sort, 
perhaps  ;  but  the  figure  perplexed  him. 

"  Don't  we  live  in  parallel  lines  ?  "  Serena  asked.  "  I 
always  think  so.  I  feel  as  if  we  walked  in  the  shadow 
here  of  the  real  thing  somewhere,  —  at  the  selfsame  time, 
I  mean.  When  we  only  walk  in  the  shadow,  you  know, 
then  it  is  a  vain  one,  and  we  disquiet  ourselves  in  vain." 

Serena  Wyse  did  not  often  directly  quote  a  Scripture 
text ;  but  she  was  very  apt  to  say  something  partly  mixed 
with  its  phrasing,  upon  which  the  thing  she  so  spoke  threw 
a  wonderful  brightness  of  significance. 

"  I  don't  see  it  all  as  plain  as  you  do,  Serena,  but  I  try 
to  walk  according  to  my  light." 

Serena  did  not  answer  anything  to  that  at  once ;  and  in 
what  seemed  a  sudden  way  for  him,  Lyman  spoke  again 
without  waiting. 


32 


BONNYBOROUGH. 


"If  a  talk  of  ours  had  ended  differently  that  we  had 
just  here  about  eleven  years  ago,"  he  said,  "  I  might  have 
been  more  parallel  with  you  by  this  time." 

"  Oh,  don't  think  that !  "  Serena  cried,  quickly.  "  It 
must  have  been  all  right.  How  could  it  have  been  dif 
ferent  ?  " 

Into  the  quiet  face  had  sprung  a  great  working,  —  an 
awakening,  it  seemed,  of  something  that  had  been  long 
lulled  asleep ;  had  been  carefully  kept  so,  perhaps,  by  some 
rocking. 

If  eleven  years  ago  had  been  different !  Had  not  Se 
rena,  on  her  side,  ever  thought  of  that  ? 

But  there  had  been  her  mother  then,  with  whom  Serena 
was  left  all  alone.  An  invalid,  exacting,  claiming  to  her 
self,  not  knowing  what  a  drain  she  made,  every  thought 
and  power  of  her  daughter's ;  her  days  filled  with  chang 
ing  and  querulous  wants  and  fancies,  her  nights  unquiet ; 
the  last  years  of  a  broken  life  slowly  fretting  themselves 
away  in  that  strange,  sad  foreignness  to  all  that  had  been 
life,  temper,  character  before,  so  that  love  and  faithfulness 
have  to  reach  back  continually  to  grasp  and  hold  with 
determined  struggle  a  memory  that  alone  inspires  their 
service  now.  This,  a  mystery  that  many  have  lived 
through,  had  been  the  mystery  of  Serena  Wyse's  existence 
then,  under  whose  control  at  less  than  twenty-three  she 
so  utterly  renounced  what  had  before  been  the  growing 
reality  of  her  own  life  —  its  hope  so  natural  that  it  hardly 
had  the  doubt  of  hope  —  as  to  leave  Lyman  Schott  in  the 
belief  that  it  had  been  no  part  of  her  interpretation  of 
their  mutual  history  at  all. 

Undoubtedly  this  had  been  his  dull  mistake  and  fault ; 
but  to  prevent  or  rectify  it  would  have  been  to  refuse  her 
duty  in  its  thoroughness.  No  new  thing  for  a  woman  to 
do  was  this  that  she  had  done.  It  may  make  but  a  trite 


WHY  TO-DAY?  33 

page  in  a  story,  yet  for  each  soul  that  has  such  renuncia 
tion  set  for  it  the  pain  is  fresh  and  separate,  and  all  its 
own. 

"  How  could  I  even  say  what  would  seem  to  ask  him  to 
wait  on  for  me  all  those  solitary  years?  "  she  had  demanded 
of  herself,  sometimes,  when  herself  arraigned  her. 

And  then  the  many  years  had  not  been,  after  all.  Her 
mother  had  died  in  less  than  two,  when  Serena  was  still 
but  twenty-four ;  and  there  had  been  nine  years  since  in 
which  Lyman  had  said  no  such  word  again,  nor  come  near 
her  any  more  in  the  old  way,  though  they  had  been  next 
neighbors,  and  had  known  each  other's  goings  out  and 
comings  in,  and  Peace  Polly  had  grown  up  to  be  Serena 
Wyse's  friend. 

"  How  could  it  have  been  different  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  came  to-day  to  ask  you  if  you  could  make  it  differ 
ent  now,"  answered  Lyman  Schott,  his  eyes  full  upon  her 
face.  He  was  not  a  man  of  circumlocutions.  He  was  too 
simple,  too  habitually  upon  the  ordinary,  open  plane  of 
things,  to  be  that. 

"  Why  to-day  ?  "  passed  quickly  through  Serena's  thought 
as  she  looked  at  him.  Oh,  why  to-day  ?  Why,  after  that 
morning  talk  with  his  sister  ?  so  that  she  could  not  help 
seeing  plainly  just  how  it  was  ;  so  that  through  no  blessed, 
permitted  ignorance  or  mistake  she  might  take,  at  last,  her 
own  ?  For  Lyman  Schott  was  not  a  man  to  come  a  third 
time. 

Yes,  notwithstanding  that  there  had  been,  after  all, 
other  hindrance  than  that  of  her  daughterly  duty  in  those 
old  days  ;  notwithstanding  there  had  been  something  else, 
she  felt,  to  wait  for,  and  that  same  thing -might  even  be 
to  wait  for  still,  she  might  yet  have  risked  it,  seeing  the 
word  had  come  to  her  now,  and  it  was  but  herself  she  had 
to  think  of,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  coming  and  asking 
3 


34  BONNYBOROUGH. 

of  Peace  Polly's  just  before.  "  All  in  one  day !  so  plain 
that  the  same  thing  sent  them  both !  " 

She  answered,  after  the  minute's  pause,  almost  as  she 
had  answered  Peace  Polly  :  — 

"  It  is  something  between  you  and  Polly,  I  'm  afraid, 
Lyman." 

"  Something  that  is  n't  between  us,  likely,"  said  Ly 
man.  "  She  wants  to  go  her  way,  and  why  not  I  go  mine  ? 
If  I  can  take  it,  Serena,  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  us 
both." 

Just  that,  after  all  those  years  !  How  long  had  he 
thought  about  it ;  how  long  had  he  been  quite  content 
with  his  mill,  and  his  farm,  and  his  sister  to  keep  house, 
going  out  and  coming  in,  and  hardly  ever  coming  here  ! 
How  could  a  woman  tell  what  a  man  meant,  away  within 
himself,  when  he  only  did  and  spoke  like  this  ? 

That  other  reason  loomed  up  in  the  light  of  these 
swift  askings.  Were  all  things  ready  for  such  marriage  ? 
Had  Lyman  even  yet  overgrown  the  distance,  the  dif 
ference  that  had  withheld  her  then  ;  that  had  made  her 
question  whether,  once  joined  in  an  irrevocable  fate  with 
him,  she  could  be  so  patient  and  believing,  under  the 
little  frets  or  unlikenesses  of  daily  perception,  purpose, 
motive,  as  she  could  be  standing  by  ?  Oh,  it  was  easy 
to  talk  to  Peace  Polly.  But  in  Peace  Polly's  place  — 
in  a  closer,  more  exacting  place  —  could  she  have  done 
better?  She  would  have  " kept  her  temper,"  doubtless, 
but  might  it  not  have  come  to  be  as  Lyman  Schott  kept 
his,  or  his  little  sister  thought  he  did,  —  "  ferociously  "  ? 
For  Serena,  living  on  her  peaceful  parallels,  knew  that 
she  had  never  tried  cross-lines  like  those,  —  lines  not 
merely  outside  and  about  her,  but  that  must,  she  knew, 
run  through  her  heart. 

"  When  once  he  comes  to  see  things,  he  '11  be  all  right," 
she  had  always  said  to  herself,  "  for  he  's  a  good  man." 


WHY  TO-DAY?  35 

And  so  she  had  gone  on,  loving  and  hoping  confidently 
for  him.  But  how  could  she  suddenly  "  make  things  dif 
ferent  "  to-day  ? 

And  Peace  Polly !  Oh,  that  settled  it ;  that  was  the  in 
stant,  manifest  forbidding  that  came  with  the  temptation. 
Yet  why  need  Lyman  have  come  and  asked  this  just 
to-day  ? 

It  was  as  if  it  were  a  sending  and  a  sign  that  she  might 
know  it  could  not  be  different  with  them,  ever. 

"I  can't  step  in  between  you  and  Peace  Polly,  Ly 
man,"  she  answered,  at  last. 

"  That  means  "  —  returned  Lyman,  hastily  ;  for  why 
should  that  girl,  who  had  a  way  and  might  have  a  life 
before  her  of  her  own,  stand  between  them  ?  Only  as  a 
pretext,  he  thought,  resentfully. 

"  It  means  that  we  must  just  keep  on  being  friends,  Ly 
man  ;  it  is  truest  so.  But  you  will  be  friends,  won't  you, 
Lyman  ?  I  've  missed  you ;  may  be  that  is  partly  why 
we  've  grown  a  little  apart,  you  see.  Can't  you  come 
back  far  enough  to  be  '  parallel,'  and  be  content  for  a 
while  ?  Everything  is  but  such  a  little  while  here,"  she 
added,  quickly. 

She  said  it  all  with  a  most  sweet,  straightforward, 
kindly  tone  and  look. 

Lyman  remembered  what  Peace  Polly  so  often  said 
about  his  temper.  He  did  not  think  or  acknowledge  that 
it  was  temper  that  he  had  to  keep.  If  this  were  affec 
tion  that  Serena  Wyse  was  keeping  back  from  him,  it 
was  as  easily  put  down  and  back  he  thought. 

If  he  had  only  cried  out  as  Peace  Polly  did :  "  I  love 
you,  and  I  want  you !  " 

But  he  was  not  impetuous.  Why,  then,  could  he  not 
understand  Serena's  "keeping  back"?  He  did  not ;  he 
took  his  answer ;  he  shook  hands  kindly  with  the  woman 


36  BONNYBOROUGH. 

whom  he  loved,  but  "in  his  way,"  as  after  all  a  man 
only  can,  and  moved  to  go  from  her. 

"  You  '11  come  in  sometimes,  now  you  have  found  the 
way  again,  Lyman  ?  "  She  said  the  words  of  invitation 
just  in  the  fashion  common  to  herself  and  to  the  country 
side  ;  but  she  said  them  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  '11  look  in,  —  when  I  can,"  Lyman  ruled 
himself  to  reply,  of  like  habit ;  and  so  he  went  away.  He 
did  not  think  quick  enough  to  tell  her  that,  though  he  had 
found  the  way,  he  had  found  a  bolted  door  at  the  end  of 
it ;  that  was  in  his  reservation  and  his  tone  only,  as  he 
added,  slowly,  the  "  when  I  can."  It  was  odd  wooing, 
odd  refusal,  odd  acquiescence,  perhaps.  In  New  England, 
people  are  not  much  given  to  high-wrought  climaxes ; 
they  dread  nothing  so  much  as  getting  off  their  proper 
common-sense  lines.  The  tragic  when  it  occurs  is  apt  to 
be  well  covered  with  the  commonplace. 

Serena,  left  alone  again,  went  up  to  her  room  that  looked 
over  the  gardens;  then  quickly  turned,  and  crossed  the 
hall  to  the  unused  easterly  spare  chamber,  and  to  its  farther 
window,  with  its  closed  green  blinds.  Peering  through 
the  slats  she  saw  Lyman,  far  down,  going  round  by  the 
roadway  under  the  elms  and  locusts  in  the  direction  of 
his  mill  again.  She  dropped  suddenly  upon  her  knees  be 
side  the  window-seat. 

"  I  have  done  the  best  I  knew.  Lord,  if  I  was  in  a 
hurry,  and  did  not  wait  for  all  Thou  hadst  to  say,  if  I 
have  made  anything  wrong  to-day,  oh,  put  it  right,  or 
make  right  come  of  it !  " 

And  so  she  got  up  again,  leaving  it  there,  where  she 
left  everything.  He  both  could  and  would,  she  knew; 
though  mistake  were  piled  upon  mistake  in  all  their  lives. 
Was  it  not  what  He  came,  and  is  with  us  always  for,  to 
judge  the  world  ? 


V. 

MRS.    DORA   DISCERNS. 

AFTER  that  things  so  settled  down  that  neither  of  the 
principal  persons  concerned  realized  that  anything  had 
happened  except  what  had  happened  to  themselves.  "  As 
you  were"  seemed  to  have  been  a  kind  of  imperative 
order  along  the  line,  and  the  momentary  change  of  atti 
tude  had  altered  nothing ;  scarcely  interrupted,  to  be  re 
membered  as  an  interruption. 

Lyman  thought,  as  usual,  "  Polly  has  got  over  the  new 
fandiddlum,"  and  letting  well  enough  alone,  though  he 
would  hardly  have  admitted  the  appositeness  of  the 
proverb,  he  made  no  remark;  at  least,  not  until  they 
had  run  in  the  old  ruts  long  enough  for  his  doing  so  to 
seem  a  new  departure. 

Peace  Polly  subsided  like  a  creature  tired  of  tugging  at 
her  chain's  length,  and  let  her  neck  rest  in  the  collar  by 
keeping  effortless  within  her  limits.  Not  altogether  as  at 
other  such  defeated  times,  either ;  some  words  of  Serena 
Wyse's  stayed  by  her,  and  moved  within  her  ;  too  deep, 
perhaps,  for  direct  thinking  or  consciousness,  but  making  a 
reserve,  a  resource,  put  away  with  but  a  half  understand 
ing,  yet  with  the  sense  that  it  might  be  drawn  forth  and 
looked  at  nearer,  —  perhaps  might  put  itself  forth  into 
some  fulfillment  somehow. 

"  He  makes  no  space  to  fill  with  emptiness."  There 
was  possibility  in  all  the  untried  years  ;  she  had  lived  but 
twenty  of  them.  Even  when  she  did  not  recall  or  dwell 


38  BONNYBOROUGH. 

upon  the  words,  the  feeling  that  life  was  more  than  the 
now  of  it,  that  there  is  always  something  written  on 
unturned  leaves,  resulted  and  remained  with  her.  It  was 
the  difference  between  despairing  and  enduring. 

Yet,  when  any  definite  thinking  came,  what  after  all 
had  arrived,  she  could  but  question,  to  Serena  herself, 
with  all  her  patience  of  assurance  ?  Peace  Polly  supposed 
she  would  say  that  she  was  only  thirty-three.  Was  that 
the  way  it  was  to  go  on  ?  "  Yet  if  it  were  eighty  it  would 
make  no  difference."  It  was  hard  to  rest  in  that,  with 
three  fourths  of  the  desert  still  before  her.  The  promised 
land  was  too  far  off.  And  here  was  fullest  food  for  think 
ing,  only  Polly  was  half  afraid  of  it,  and  half  helpless  to 
see  clear ;  —  was  it  only  for  some  certain  "  elect,"  believ 
ing  as  Serena  Wyse  believed,  waiting  in  the  "  hope  "  that 
only  came  to  such  after  their  unknown,  mystical  "  ex 
perience  "  ?  There  was  nobody  to  answer  her  these 
things  ;  at  any  rate,  she  must  first  ask  concerning  them ; 
and  she  had  a  prejudice  against  "  inquiring,"  though  she 
continually  turned  to  Serena  with  other,  if  they  were 
other,  interrogations. 

Nevertheless,  the  residuum  of  comfort  lay  in  her  under 
neath  her  thinkings  or  her  refusings  to  think  ;  stored  up, 
according  to  Swedenborg's  great  doctrine  of  "  remains." 
There  was  no  such  thing  as  an  emptiness.  The  world  was 
full,  and  it  moved,  though  her  days  rose  and  set  without 
her  feeling  any  thrill  or  sweep  of  their  swiftness.  She 
might  encounter  something,  or  come  into  some  new  place 
of  her  life-orbit,  —  see  some  new  star,  or  feel  the  breath 
of  different  seasons,  —  even  so,  through  the  very  fixed 
ness  of  the  stubborn  axis  of  her  fate. 

Serena  troubled  for  nothing,  save  as  to  whether  she  had 
done  the  right.  If  she  had,  all  would  be,  all  was  already, 
as  right  as  it  could  be.  If  not,  even,  it  would  be  made 


MRS.   DORA   DISCERNS.  39 

right,  though  by  a  longer  or  a  harder  way.  She  would  not 
make  the  way  hard  for  another,  if  she  knew ;  but  had  it 
really  been  made  hard,  at  all,  for  Lyman  Schott  ?  Was 
it  more  to  him  than  an  easy,  the  nearest  easy,  arrange 
ment  of  his  life  ?  Would  he  have  thought  of  this  that  he 
had  asked  her,  now,  except  for  Peace  Polly's  restlessness 
that  broke  in  upon  the  every-day  accustomedness  which 
was  life-comfort  to  him  ?  Did  he  want  more  than  to  estab 
lish  with  as  little  wrench  as  possible  a  new  rut  and  order 
in  which  the  wheels  might  run  with  less  jar  and  resist 
ance,  and  with  no  threatening  of  uncertainty  or  change, 
save  the  uncertainty  of  life  itself,  and  the  great  change 
away  from  everything  by  death  ?  Had  it  not  settled  it 
self  quite  as  nearly  to  his  satisfaction,  apparently,  now 
that  Peace  Polly,  diverted  from  her  little  balk,  was  draw 
ing  quietly  in  her  harness  again  ? 

Serena  knew  more  than  the  other  two,  since  each  of 
the  two  had  come  to  her,  but  I  doubt  if  she  understood 
much  more  clearly  than  either ;  and  so  the  two  house 
holds,  so  curiously  alike  in  circumstance,  each  with  so 
much  more  space  than  obvious  life  in  it,  so  much  more 
in  possession  than  in  use,  went  on  their  wonted,  separate, 
neighboring,  near-distant  ways. 

Meanwhile,  outside  and  about  them,  though  they  moved 
not  at  all,  a  little  tide  of  event  moved  slightly.  Visitors 
and  kinsfolk  came  and  went,  in  other  houses,  as  the  sum 
mer  deepened,  and  the  short  weeks  of  New  England  holi 
day  opportunity  went  by.  Some  strangers  were  boarding 
at  the  Cramhalls' ;  New  York  people  this  year.  Lucy 
Remond  was  married  ;  she  had  been  engaged  so  long 
that  it  was  hardly  an  event,  —  or  was  it,  as  some  said,  the 
more  a  surprise,  as  death,  long  waited  for,  seems  always 
"  sudden  at  last "  ?  She  was  nearer  forty  than  thirty  ; 
the  bridegroom  forty-eight.  Miss  Mallis,  the  life  and 


40  BONNYBOROUGH. 

lash  of  the  village,  wondered  that  Mr.  Dawney  did  not 
forget,  and  say  "dust  to  dust,  ashes  to  ashes,"  when  he 
married  them. 

Dr.  Blithecome  had  had  one  or  two  ill  turns ;  he 
looked  badly,  people  said  ;  he  was  not  an  old  man,  either. 
But,  if  anything  happened,  what  was  Bonnyborough  to 
do  without  Dr.  Blithecome  ?  Everybody  in  the  place 
less  than  twenty-five  years  old  had  come  into  life  under 
his  ministration  ;  how  could  they  get  comfortably  out  of 
it  without  him  ?  A  doctor  of  thirty  years'  standing  holds 
the  whole  community,  or  it  him,  in  ownership  by  a  kind 
of  birthright ;  more  than  that,  by  his  sole  custody  of  the 
keys  and  combination-signs  of  all  its  constitutions.  They 
dared  not  be  sick,  they  had  no  right  to  be  well,  with 
out  him.  This  menace  through  him  of  their  very  charters 
of  existence,  this  threat  of  loss  and  break  in  the  records 
by  which  they  held  safe  tenure,  and  whose  registry  was 
in  his  brain,  stirred  a  public  anxiety  that  made  the  little 
occasional  news  about  it  not  news,  —  that  they  were  fond 
of,  —  but  announcement  heavy  with  personal  importance 
to  them  ;  a  thing  of  vital  hope  or  apprehension.  Yet  it 
was  news,  after  all ;  and  there  is  something  even  in  the 
progress  of  one's  own  aches  or  troubles  that  interests  a 
strange,  independent,  inquisitive  part  of  the  mind. 

And  Dr.  Farron,  with  his  wife  Dora,  had  come  back 
to  Bonnyborough.  This  was  altogether  a  new  and  unex 
pected  happening. 

The  Rev.  Sebastian  Farron  had  been  rector  at  Bonny 
borough  when  our  Peace  Polly  was  born :  see  first  page 
of  the  present  story.  His  wife  Dora  had  made  her  com 
ments,  therein  rendered,  at  the  occasion  of  the  christening. 
After  that,  Mr.  Farron's  health  had  suffered  from  the  cli 
mate,  and  the  winter  exposures  of  his  scattered  parish 
work  among  the  wind-scoured  hills.  Mrs.  Dora's  brother 


MRS.   DORA  DISCERNS.  41 

had  made  a  place  and  fortune  out  on  the  sweet  Pacific 
slopes ;  and  the  clergyman  and  his  wife  had  removed 
thither  for  an  indefinite  stay.  Mr.  Farron  had  busied  him 
self  quietly  there  for  a  good  while  in  completing  a  work 
upon  church  history  and  methods,  remarkable  for  its  unify 
ing  thought  and  illustration  ;  after  the  publication  of  which 
he  had  received  his  degree  of  preferment,  Sacrse  Theologiae 
Doctor.  With  the  best  efforts  of  his  restored  vigor,  he 
had  then  built  up  a  church  and  mission,  which  he  had  now 
transferred  to  the  charge  of  a  younger  clerical  brother ; 
and  he  and  his  wife  both  longing  for  the  dear  hill  coun 
try  of  their  earlier  life,  and  the  summer  joy  distincted 
from  the  year,  like  a  glowing  jewel,  by  its  very  setting 
between  the  bleaker  changes,  —  the  more  since  Dora's 
brother  had  died,  leaving  his  large  property  equally  di 
vided  between  his  wife  and  sister,  there  being  no  surviving 
children,  —  they  had  returned  to  the  home  they  had  built 
and  always  owned  in  Bonnyborough,  and  to  the  abundant 
association  and  resource  for  the  winter  times  of  the  city, 
only  a  few  hours'  travel  off. 

Their  coming  back  was  an  event  for  Peace  Polly, 
though  she  gave  it  little  thought  at  first,  so  certain  is  it 
that  we  rarely  know  when  eventf ulness  begins  for  us. 

"  I  told  you  so  !  "  remarked  Mrs.  Dora,  meekly  and 
enigmatically,  as  she  walked  away  from  church  with 
her  husband  after  a  service  in  which  he  had  taken  part, 
and  a  sermon  they  had  listened  to  from  the  Rev.  Richard 
Innesley,  a  young  deacon  at  present  filling  the  doctor's 
former  duty,  which  had  passed  through  a  succession  of 
temporary  hands  since  the  old  Farron  days. 

"  I  quite  dare  say  you  did,  my  dear.     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  About  Pease  Porridge  Hot,"  returned  his  wife.  "  It 
was  right  here,  at  the  very  corner  we  have  just  turned,  — 
how  things  come  back  at  corners  !  —  that  I  said  to  you 


42  BONNYBOROUGH. 

after  the  christening,  you  know;  or,  at  least,  I  said  if 
she  should  *  lead  the  remainder  of  her  life  '  —  well,  you 
did  n't  like  me  to  say  it  then,  and  I  won't  now,  but  she 
has,  I  can  see  it  in  her  face.  It 's  been  inside,  if  not 
out,  and  inside  's  the  worst ;  but  how  could  she  help  it, 
among  those  behindhand  people  !  " 

"  Dora,  glossary  !  " 

"  'Janet !  donkeys  ! '  "  quoted  Mrs.  Dora.  "  Of  course 
I  don't  mean  you;  though  why  '  glossary,'  for  such  a  word 
as  that  ?  It  was  charitable  for  benighted,  or  contracted, 
which  I  did  n't  like  to  say ;  only,  oh,  those  pilgrim- 
forefather  people  that  came  here  to  get  room  to  grow ! 
Do  you  know,  Sebastian,  I  truly  think  the  Lord  meant 
just  such  holding  fast  of  truth  as  cramps  it  down  and 
starves  it,  when  He  told  the  story  of  the  talent  in  a  nap 
kin  ?  That  girl  looks  hungry,  Doctor,  and  —  cross.  I 
think  you  ought  to  see  to  it." 

"  You  are  certainly  a  person  of  most  remarkable  per 
ceptions  and  suggestions.  Could  you  tell  me  how  ?  " 

"  No  ;  that 's  what  you  Ve  got  to  watch  for.  If  you  do, 
you  '11  see." 

"Thank  you.  And,  Dora,  don't  be  church-proud.  I 
believe  that  is  worst  of  all.  It  puts  uncharity  under  a 
mask,  and  makes  a  multiplied,  outside  self-confidence,  in 
stead  of  a  single,  personal  one  that  can  be  detected  and 
shamed." 

"  That  is  excellent,"  returned  Dora.  "  And  I  don't 
think  that  I  am.  For  it  is  precisely  the  thing  I  am  de 
ploring.  When  people  suppose  they  have  got  everything 
in  heaven  and  earth  packed  into  their  nutshell,  they  never 
take  the  trouble  to  pull  it  out  again  and  use  it,  but  go 
along  quite  satisfied  to  hold  on  to  the  shell.  It  was  the 
way  I  did  with  my  traveling-satchel  all  the  way  from 
San  Francisco  to  Denver.  I  don't  care  whether  it 's  puri- 


MRS.   DORA   DISCERNS.  43 

tanical  or  ecclesiastical.  What  I  say  is  that  it  takes  an 
everlasting  lifetime  to  grow  to  the  faith  of  what  we  be 
lieve  in." 

"Right,  and  good.  Only  you  need  not  say,  'behind 
hand  people.'  There  are  last  that  shall  be  first.  And 
1  If  I  will  that  some  tarry  till  I  come,  what  is  that  to 
thee  ?  See  that  thou  tarry  not ;  but  follow  me.'  " 

"  Your  word  is  the  biggest  and  best,  and  I  have  got  it," 
returned  the  wife.  "  That  is  what  my  impertinences  are 
after,  always."  And  she  gave  his  arm  a  quick  little  cling 
ing  pressure.  "But  I  did  n't  mean  people,  in  bodies, 
though  I  did  lay  it  back  upon  pilgrim-fathers  ;  I  meant 
individuals  ;  pared  off,  and  narrowed  down  ;  and  I  was 
pitying  that  girl." 

It  was  the  third  Sunday  after  the  Farrons  had  been  re 
settled  in  the  old  neighborhood ;  and  Mrs.  Dora's  eyes 
and  ears  had  been  catching  up  missed  chapters.  She  was 
now  quite  as  au  courant  to  the  history  of  things  as  if  she 
had  sat  here  all  these  twelve  years  reading  it. 

Peace  Polly  had  not  been  at  church  until  this  third 
Sunday. 

"'People,'  in  this  case,"  remarked  the  Doctor,  "seems 
to  be  a  noun  of  multitude  restricted  to  Lyman  Schott." 

"  Restricted  !     Yes." 

"  Lyman  Schott  is  a  good  man." 

"  Oh,  dear !  goodness  that  does  n't  numerate.  A  string 
of  ciphers  without  a  value.  He  is  n't  this,  and  he  is  n't 
that.  But  why,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  n't  he  t'other? 
That 's  what  Peace  Polly  needs.  The  man  has  n't  grown 
an  inch,  I  can  see  that,  in  these  twelve  years." 

"  His  planing-mill  has  grown." 

"  May  be  that 's  the  plain  reason." 

"  Oh,  if  you  take  to  punning  !  " 

"  I  don't     It  punned  itself." 


44  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  see  some  of  the  beautiful  work  he 
does." 

"  I  should  like,  first,  to  see  after  some  of  the  beautiful 
work  he  does  n't  do." 

"  Every  man's  work  must  be  left  mostly  to  himself," 
said  the  Doctor. 

"  Then  why  can't  somebody  work  upon  him  ? "  said 
incorrigible  Mrs.  Dora.  "I  tell  you,  Peace  Polly  has 
got  the  beginning  of  a  peevy-wrinkle  at  the  corners  of 
her  mouth ! " 


VI. 

MRS.   DORA  UNDERTAKES. 

MRS.  FARRON  was  quite  determined  to  do  something 
for  Peace  Polly.  She  took  it  up,  in  her  own  mind,  as  her 
direct  and  instant  mission  here.  But  as  all  missionaries 
have  to  find  out,  the  errand  cannot  be  done  all  on  one  side. 
There  is  a  sending  of  the  receiver  to  receive,  also.  And  for 
Peace  Polly  it  was  not  at  once  a  natural  thing  to  do,  to 
draw  into  an  intimacy  with  a  person  so  differently  situated 
in  years,  position,  culture,  command,  although  she  might, 
and  did,  appreciate  with  a  modest  surprise  the  kindly  ap 
proaches  and  permissions  from  the  higher,  elder  side. 

Impetuous  as  Polly  was  to  utter  herself,  when  once  she 
had  established  freedom  of  speech,  it  was  not  in  her  to 
rush  into  a  sudden  confidence  with  Mrs.  Dora.  Nor  would 
that  lady,  on  her  part,  assume  or  intrude,  for  the  very  rea 
son  that  she  might  almost  seem  to  take  privilege  to  cate 
chise.  With  all  her  clear-seeing  and  clear-speaking  special 
ties  she  had  the  most  exquisite  sort  of  tact,  —  the  tact  that 
really  touches  and  feels,  that  is  not  a  mere  trained  and 
skillful  technicality  of  breeding. 

She  asked  Polly  to  her  house ;  she  kept  her  to  little 
quiet  home  teas,  or  lunches,  —  considerately  sending  word, 
always,  to  Mr.  Schott,  through  notice  to  Rebeccarabby, 
that  it  was  to  be  so ;  she  gave  the  girl  seeds  and  shoots  of 
her  lovely  Californian  plants ;  she  brought  a  new  element 
of  life  and  cheer  to  her,  and  this  was  a  great  deal ;  but 
she  asked  her  no  direct  questions,  and  Peace  Polly  offered 


46  BONNYBOROUGH. 

no  deep  confidence.  She  was  a  different  person,  indeed, 
for  the  brief  whiles  that  she  was  with  her  new  friend ;  it 
was  only  out  of  her  old,  fretted,  crossed,  and  self-blaming 
self  that  her  heart-revelations  broke  forth. 

"I  think  you  must  need  some  companionship  of  your 
own  age,"  said  Mrs.  Farron  to  her  one  day,  having  come 
to  recognition  of  the  fact  that  her  own  forty-five  years  and 
her  memory  back  into  the  girl's  babyhood,  while  truly 
making  her  both  girl  and  woman  to  sympathize  and  coun 
sel,  might  just  be,  to  Peace  Polly's  apprehension,  the  dis 
tant,  different  five-and-forty  years,  as  a  point  arrived  at, 
and  the  changed  —  not  inclusive  —  view  and  experience 
of  life  as  it  affected  twenty. 

"  There  is  n't  anybody  of  my  own  age,"  replied  Polly, 
with  the  quietest  assertion. 

Mrs.  Farron  lifted  up  her  eyes.  Here  was  something, 
at  last.  Here  was  a  keen  word  after  her  own  fashion. 
She  looked  at  Polly  with  blank  inquiry,  though  she  was 
quite  quick  enough  to  see  precisely  what  was  meant. 

"  Not  ?  Why,  is  n't  Rose  Howick,  —  are  n't  the  Cram- 
halls,  and  the  Holistons,  and  Judith  Dawney,  —  any 
bodies  ?  " 

"  I  was  born  into  a  previous  generation,"  said  Peace 
Polly ;  "  and  I  have  n't  grown  up  to  it,  and  I  can't  get 
back  or  forward  from  it  to  my  own.  I  think  I  don't  know 
how  to  be  a  girl,  and,  may  be  because  of  missing  that, 
I  'in  sure  I  have  n't  begun  to  be  a  woman." 

Well,  Mrs.  Dora  had  got  it  now,  certainly !  But  she 
did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do  with  it. 

So  she  waited.  She  had  the  uncommon  sense  to  do 
that.  If  Peace  Polly  had  any  further  real  word  to  say,  it 
would  not  be  led  forth  by  a  haphazard,  misfitting  utter 
ance  made  merely  as  at  her  turn  in  the  conversation. 
Many  and  many  a  true-telling  has  been  turned  aside  in 


MRS.   DORA    UNDERTAKES.  47 

that  way.  She  left  the  thread  unbroken  by  any  such  rude, 
ignorant  touch ;  and  she  threw  the  obligation  of  continu 
ance  upon  Peace  Polly.  It  is  a  trick  of  talk  that  few 
master ;  but  Mrs.  Farron  understood  it,  and  by  that  one 
simple  fetch  had  become  the  repository  of  more  unbosom- 
ings  and  shrifts  than  even  ever  the  good  clergyman  her 
husband. 

"  And  —  I  've  been  uneasy  because  you  could  n't  suspect 
it  —  I  'm  so  cross,  and  such  a  horrid  scold.  I  always 
thought  that  grown-up  people  got  over  it,  and  grew  mild 
and  polite ;  so  I  suppose  I  've  all  my  real  growing  up  to 
do.  And  yet  —  I  'm  too  old  for  those  girls,  Mrs.  Far 
ron  ! " 

"  Are  you  cross  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Farron,  with  just  that 
tone  of  gentle,  unsurprised  interest  with  which  she  might 
have  said,  "  You  do  draw,  then?  "  or,  "  You  are  musical?  " 
quite  as  if  the  ordinary  powers  and  tendencies  of  human 
nature  were  to  be  looked  for,  with  but  slight  variations,  in 
almost  anybody. 

"  I  'm  dreadful  liable  to  it,  as  Rebeccarabby  says,"  re 
turned  Peace  Polly,  smiling.  The  comfort  of  not  having 
so  shocked  or  dumbstricken  her  hearer  as  to  be  made  to 
feel  wholly  out  of  the  limit  of  her  comprehension  or 
countenance  positively  elated  her.  It  was  a  kind  of  ab 
solution. 

"Cross  people  are  hardly  ever  hypocrites,"  said  Mrs. 
Farron.  "  Temper  generally  goes  with  truth,  I  think." 

"  Only  truth,  clear  through,  ought  to  conquer  it." 

"If  you  have  found  that  out,  you  must  have  'taken  a 
start,'  as  they  say,  to  grow." 

"  Bodily  growing  does  n't  ever  take  a  start  backward. 
What  you  gain  stays.  If  you  could  only  hold  on  so  inside 
you  might  have  a  chance  to  gain  more." 

"  That 's  what  the  confirmation  prayer  means ;  that  we 


48  BONNYBOROUGH. 

may  daily  increase  in  the  Holy  Spirit  more  and  more,  till 
we  come  into  the  everlasting  kingdom." 

"I  haven't  had  that  said  for  me,"  said  Peace  Polly, 
lowly. 

Then,  indeed,  Mrs.  Farron  was  surprised. 

"  Why,  who  has  been  looking  after  you,  my  dear  ?  "  she 
cried. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  wanted  it,"  replied  the  girl, 
still  in  her  low  tone,  and  evading  other  answer. 

"  Wanted  looking  after !  " 

"  I  mean  —  to  do  that.     I  've  never  been  ready." 

Mrs.  Dora  looked  at  Peace  Polly  very  earnestly. 

"  Should  you  say,  I  cannot  get  ready  for  the  journey, 
because  I  have  n't  packed  my  trunk  ?  "  It  was  odd,  like 
her,  and  apt  enough.  But  Peace  Polly  was  as  quick  as 
she. 

"Yes;  if  I  hadn't  got  a  single  garment  made  or 
mended." 

"That's  only  setting  the  work  back  a  stage  further. 
Say,  if  you  please,  you  won't  thread  your  needle  because 
the  seam  is  n't  sewn." 

"I  see.  I  don't  suppose  I  need  try  to  back  out,  with 
you  to  get  behind  me.  But,  dear  Mrs.  Farron,  aren't 
there  a  great  many  people  in  the  church  who  are  nothing 
but  Prayer-Book  Christians  ?  '' 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  phrase  ?  and  what  does  it  mean, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

Peace  Polly  answered  the  second  question. 

"  Why,  taking  things  cut  and  dried.  Carrying  your  re 
ligion  round  by  a  finger-strap.  Depending  upon  a  church 
certificate,  somehow,  and  not  taking  much  upon  yourself. 
There  must  be  more  than  just  an  easy  being  led,  in  a  grad 
ual,  insensible  kind  of  a  way." 

"  Led  ?    Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Farron.     "  We  must  be  led. 


MRS.   DORA    UNDERTAKES.  49 

We  trust  to  be.  But  we  shan't  be  dragged.  We  Ve  got 
to  take  every  single  step  ourselves,  and  choose  to  take  it  as 
it  comes.  Experience  is  realizing  in  one's  self  what  one 
believes.  That  can't  be  done  in  a  minute,  though  it  is  al 
ways  in  some  minute  that  everything  is  begun.  I  think 
there  might  be  such  a  thing  as  a  prayer-wee£m#  Christian, 
too.  Nobody  will  ever  be  a  Prayer-Book  Christian  till 
they  have  experienced  the  Prayer-Book." 

While  Mrs.  Dora  had  been  eagerly  saying  these  rapid 
sentences,  she  had  not  heard  the  Doctor's  step  ;  but  he  had 
come  along  the  hall,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  as  she  fin 
ished.  His  shadow  made  her  turn  quickly  and  flush  up. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  might  have  left  it  to  you,  per 
haps.  But  I  do  now,"  she  said. 

"  You  don't  leave  much,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile  and 
a  bend  of  his  deep,  kind  eyes  that  she  knew  by  heart.  And 
then,  most  unprofessionally,  he  quietly  moved  away. 

"  He  won't  interrupt,"  said  his  wife.  "  He  knows  it 
would  just  make  a  jumping-off  place,  and  have  to  be  all 
gone  back  and  over  again.  But  he  would  be  ready,  and 
kind,  any  time,  Peace." 

To  think  she  should  call  her  that,  —  alone,  as  if  it 
really  belonged  to  her  !  Why,  the  girl  could  not  remember 
that  anybody  had  ever  stopped  at  the  "  Peace  "  before : 
the  moisture  sprang  to  her  shining  eyes. 

"  I  'd  earn  that  name,  if  I  could,"  she  said,  almost  pas 
sionately.  "  But  I  told  you,  truly,  I  am  a  miserable 
scold." 

"  Scolding  is  not  always  vituperating.  It  is  often  only 
vigorous  explanation,"  said  Mrs.  Dora  Farron. 

Peace  Polly  had  to  laugh. 

"  Temper  is  truth,  and  scolding  reason !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  You  put  it  very  benevolently." 

"It  may  certainly  not  be  spite,    or  hate,"  the   elder 

4 


50  BONNYBOROUGH. 

woman  said.  "  I  know  it  is  sometimes  a  mere  desperate 
struggle  to  straighten  things  ;  the  manner  is  a  matter  of 
temperament.  Anger  is  pure  anguish,  which  it  is  the 
Latin  word  for,  quite  frequently.  '  Be  ye  angry,  and  sin 
not.  Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  your  wrath.'  " 

"  It  never  does,  on  mine, "  said  Peace  Polly,  humbly. 
"  I  'm  sorry  by  that  time.  Unless,"  she  added,  quaintly, 
recalling  that  greatest  recent  quarrel,  "  things  happen  at 
sundown !  But  what  do  you  suppose  St.  Paul,  I  believe 
it  was,  exactly  meant  by  that  ?  " 

"  St.  Paul,  yes  ;  writing  to  the  Ephesians,  who  '  could 
not  bear  them  that  were  evil.'  Not  a  dispensation  till 
candle-light,  assuredly  !  "  answered  Mrs.  Dora.  "  I  don't 
think  it  was  outward  daylight  he  meant  at  all." 

"  What  is  inside  daylight,  then  ?  " 

"  The  shining  of  the  Lord's  presence,"  said  Mrs.  Farron. 

And  upon  that  fell  a  silence  ;  the  talk  ended. 


VII. 

ORCHIDS   AND   TEA-ROSES. 

I  AM  glad  for  Peace  Polly,  and  for  the  impression  Mrs. 
Farron  may  make  upon  those  who  may  read  of  her,  that 
I  had  that  talk  to  tell  of  in  the  last  chapter ;  that  it  oc 
curred  in  legitimate  order,  before  certain  other  ideas  had 
even  entered  into  that  lively  lady's  head,  which,  with 
her  promptness  of  character,  she  would  not  long  leave  un 
acted  on. 

I  am  glad  that  she  began  at  the  right  end,  or  the  right 
depth,  with  Peace  Polly.  If  she  had  let  the  other  end, 
or  the  surface  of  things,  alone,  there  might  be  less  re 
maining  to  tell,  but  it  might  also  have  been  more  speedily 
comfortable  for  Peace  Polly,  who  has  not  the  passive  en 
tertainment  of  reading  her  own  history. 

It  would  be  always  well  if  we  worked  more  with  the 
actual,  and  its  obvious  import  and  duty,  in  our  influen 
cing  or  helping  one  another ;  when  we  leave  that,  and 
the  motive  and  showing  involved,  to  try  ordering  circum 
stances,  and  especially  future  circumstances,  we  leave  the 
position  of  our  own  power,  and  take  hold  of  something 
for  which  we  have  no  tools,  no  handling  implements ; 
and  all  parties  are  subject  to  wound  or  loss  accordingly. 

That  word  of  Peace  Polly's,  that  there  was  nobody  of 
her  own  age,  wrought  with  force  upon  Mrs.  Farron's 
mind.  If  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  be  a  girl,  and  she  had 
not  come  to  the  full  estate  of  her  womanhood,  it  occurred 
to  the  Doctor's  wife  that  there  was  but  one  good  and  nat- 


52  BONNYBOROUGH. 

oral  way  to  remedy  the  state  of  things.  It  was  not  good 
for  woman,  anyhow,  to  be  alone.  That  went  without  say 
ing.  It  was  predicated  of  man,  concerning  whom  there 
might  be  thought  to  be  a  doubt,  possibly  ;  but  for  woman, 
her  very  creation  answered  any  such  question ;  she  was 
not  put  into  the  world  for  the  solitude  of  a  day,  even. 
Adam  was  first  formed,  then  Eve.  Mrs.  Farron  believed 
in  matrimony,  in  the  Iwly  estate  of  it ;  and  she  had  good 
reason.  She  could  invent  no  outward  wish  for  Peace 
Polly  so  satisfying  or  so  setting-right  as  that  she  might 
become  some  good  man's  wife. 

But  where  was  the  good  man  ? 

Serena  Wyse  would  have  said  that  he  was  safe  in  the 
Lord's  knowledge  and  leading,  though  may  be  across  the 
world,  or  years  away  in  time  to  come.  Mrs.  Farron  would 
have  acknowledged  that,  but  she  would  no  less  have 
looked  about  her  a  little,  if  perchance  the  Lord  might 
have  him  in  nearer  readiness,  and  even  mean  her  to  use 
her  eyes  a  little.  Why  might  it  not  be  of  as  much  pur 
pose  and  leading  that  she  herself  had  been  brought  back 
just  at  this  moment,  from  across  the  continent,  into  this 
new  interest  ?  One  need  not  throw  one's  self,  or  one's 
friends,  helpless,  on  Providence.  And  right  here  in  Bon- 
nyborough,  led  also,  of  course,  was  the  Rev.  Richard 
Innesley.  Why  should  not  that  do  ?  Why  not  be  meant, 
and  put  into  her  mind,  as  part  of  the  good  process  and 
working  of  things  ?  She  asked  it  in  all  pleased  and  hope 
ful  reverence. 

It  was  bad  that  Peace  Polly  did  not  come  to  church 
more  regularly.  It  was  very  bad  that  she  had  not  yet 
been  confirmed.  Mrs.  Dora  felt  that  she  ought  not  to 
plan  a  bit  further^  —  no,  not  plan,  she  was  not  doing  so 
much  as  that,  but  only  thinking  what  might  be  good  to 
come  about,  —  until  she  had  gone  to  the  Doctor  with  this 


ORCHIDS  AND   TEA-ROSES.  53 

most  essential  matter,  and  begged  him  to  take  it  on  his 
mind.  For  how  was  anything  to  be  done  here,  among 
youthful  feminine  persons,  by  Richard  Innesley,  young 
himself  and  very  good-looking,  and  only  in  his  diaconate  ? 

Now  it  happened  that  Peace  Polly's  irregularity  at 
church  was  greatly  owing  to  this  same  Rev.  Mr.  Innesley. 
The  girls  all  thought  him  so  handsome,  —  pshaw  !  —  es 
pecially  in  his  surplice.  She  was  thrown  just  enough  with 
her  contemporaries  to  see  their  follies,  and  catch  the 
floating  rubbish  that  they  sometimes  talked.  She  thought 
that  to  say  a  man  looked  "  sweet "  in  his  sacred  garb  was 
the  most  trashy  profanity ;  and  if  Peace  Polly  Schott 
hated  any  one  thing  and  revered  another,  they  were 
trumpery  and  the  solemn  faiths  that  she  felt  herself  to 
have  but  barely  approached,  but  that,  with  the  angels, 
she  desired  honestly,  if  she  only  dared  or  might,  to  look 
into. 

Worst  of  all,  she  told  Serena  Wyse,  one  Sunday,  she 
"  caught  Mr.  Innesley's  eye  in  the  Te  Deum." 

"  And  if  anybody  really  meant  one  syllable  of  it," 
she  said,  "they  wouldn't  have  remembered  that  they 
had  eyes  :  they  would  have  been  seeing  from  inside  them, 
into  the  glory  of  heaven.  And  one  seraph  would  n't  so 
much  as  look  at  another  seraph  there,  though  his  wings 
brushed  over  his  face,  when  they  were  all  singing  to  the 
Lord  !  You  need  n't  laugh ;  I  don't  mean  that  there 
were  any  seraphs  concerned,  and  I  know  very  well  I 
was  n't.  Rose  Howick  sits  behind  me,  and  she  had  just 
come  in." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  are  a  little  mite  harsh,"  Serena 
answered  (she  pronounced  it  a  little  mite  ha'ash,  but  noth 
ing  sounded  awkward  or  vulgar  from  Serena  Wyse's  lips)  ; 
"  a  good  many  things  are  unconscious,  and  a  minister  in 
a  chancel  has  the  disadvantage  of  one  m  a  pulpit,  with- 


54  BONNYBOROUGH. 

out  being  a  grain  more  human.  If  he  looks  at  his  people 
at  all,  he  has  to  do  it  sideways,  and  that  always  appears 
more  distracted.  And  which  way  were  you  looking,  inside 
or  out  ?  " 

"  I  was  n't  daring  to  look  inside,"  said  Peace  Polly. 
"  I  hardly  dare  to  read  those  words  to  myself  while  they 
are  singing.  Why,  only  think  what  they  say  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  them  as  you  do,  but  only  think  what 
any  words  are,  sent  up  to  the  Lord  ;  and  yet  we  can't 
help  wandering  thoughts.  The  best  ones  can't,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  When  I  wander,  I  stop ;  and  there  are  some  things  I 
don't  begin  on,"  said  honest  Polly ;  "  but  I  suppose  a 
clergyman  can't,"  she  allowed  somewhat  indefinitely.  "  I 
would  like  to  think  they  were  up  there,  though,  even  if  I 
could  n't  get  there  myself.  It  ought  to  be  real.  It  begins 
with  a  '  we,'  and  it  ends  with  an  s  I.'  It  is  n't  all  left  to 
the  apostles  and  prophets  and  martyrs." 

And  so  Peace  Polly  got  a  prejudice  against  Mr.  In- 
nesley  and  stayed  away  from  church,  except  when  some 
very  earnest  need  of  particular  confession  or  entreaty 
moved  her,  and  she  went  for  the  comfort  of  the  one  ab 
solving  prayer,  or  the  one  sentence  in  the  Litany  ;  or  on 
the  days  when  Dr.  Farron  preached,  or  administered  the 
Communion.  She  kept  her  seat  for  the  holy  service, 
though  other  non-communicants  passed  cheerfully  out, 
after  just  kneeling  to  pray  that  with  all  those  departed 
this  life  in  God's  faith  and  fear  they  might  be  partakers 
of  the  heavenly  kingdom.  She  could  bow  her  head  and 
shut  her  eyes  and  think,  while  she  heard  the  soft  moving 
to  and  fro,  and  the  low,  sweet  words  of  the  minister  that 
came  brokenly  to  her  ear  as  he  gave  the  bread  and  the 
cup,  that  these  were  "  up  there "  with  the  blessed  com 
pany  in  those  moments ;  and  that  while  they  thronged 


ORCHIDS  AND    TEA-ROSES.  55 

with  better  right  about  the  Master,  she  might  in  the  very 
shelter  of  the  crowd,  catching  some  crumb  of  faith  from 
them,  be  strengthened  to  reach  her  hand  to  the  outermost 
hem  of  the  garment  and  gain  a  grace. 

This  was  as  far  as  she  had  got  in  "  experiencing  her 
Prayer -Book."  And  nobody  guessed  anything.  Only 
Mrs.  Farron  believed  there  was  more  in  her  refusals  than 
in  the  conformities  of  many  others  ;  and  the  good  Doctor, 
watching  for  her  as  one  who  would  fain  know  and  counsel, 
but  would  not  be  in  haste  with  any  soul,  observed  some 
of  these  things,  and  put  them  alongside  his  wife's  anxious 
communication  that  "  the  child  had  never  even  been  con 
firmed." 

We  have  been  brought  to  this  closer  glimpse  of  the 
movement  of  Peace  Polly's  mind  at  this  time  through 
mention  of  what  may  seem  but  trivial  workings,  in  com 
parison,  concerning  her,  and  very  trivial  in  contrast  to 
return  to ;  but  it  is  needful  that  we  should  return  to  the 
things  which  the  present  chapter  was  begun  with  the  in 
tent  of  setting  forth. 

Beginning  to  understand  her,  and  to  find  so  much  in  her, 
and  even  to  draw  her  forth  more  and  more  freely  in  an 
intercourse  which,  however  timidly  entered  into  on  Peace 
Polly's  part,  was  readily  enough  accepted  and  developed 
by  that  isolated  young  person  of  her  own  age,  as  its  rare 
invitation  and  opening  became  apparent  and  assured, 
Mrs.  Farron  grew  more  actively  desirous  that  others, 
such  as  she  could  choose,  should  discover  and  appreci 
ate  as  she  had  done :  the  Doctor  first,  as  was  his  place, 
for  the  great  good  he  might  do  her,  as  no  other  could,  in 
the  highest  things  of  all ;  after  him,  a  long  way,  may  be, 
for  who  did  not  come  a  long  way  after  her  wise  and 
strong  Sebastian  ?  —  after  him,  yet  truly  on  the  same  good 
road,  and  well  meet  to  journey  in  company  with  this 


56  BONNYBOROUGH. 

bright,  true,  questioning  spirit  who  would  so  grow  to 
ward  and  with  him,  the  young  clergyman,  Richard  In- 
nesley.  For  Mrs.  Dora  knew  what  Peace  Polly  could 
not  know,  through  her  prejudice  and  the  hindrance  of  the 
girl-nonsense  about  her,  that  Mr.  Innesley  was  no  feeble, 
mechanical,  lay-figure  of  a  would-be  priest,  but  of  much 
more  than  ordinary  power  and  promise,  and  heartily  given 
to  his  work,  though  young  to  it,  and  possibly  —  since,  as 
she  had  reminded  Polly,  it  is  life  eternal  we  must  have  for 
that  —  not  yet  grown  to  its  great  measure,  or  to  the  full 
inheritance  of  all  the  sainthood  that  has  been  on  earth, 
and  now  is  in  the  light. 

If  Mrs.  Farron  were  possibly  mistaken  in  undertaking 
such  a  matter  at  all,  —  and  she  professed  to  herself  all  the 
while  that  she  did  not  undertake  it,  —  she  was  certainly 
very  clever  in  her  moves  after  she  had  begun  —  to  play  ? 
Well,  to  overlook  the  game. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Rose  Howick  was  a  great  deal 
prettier  in  a  certain  way  than  Peace  Polly  Schott.  And 
oh,  the  difference  in  names  !  Although  she  had  told  Polly 
sincerely  that  hers,  sounded  to  its  root-depths,  was  a  most 
beautiful  baptismal  gift,  since  the  "  Mary,"  which  was 
bitterness,  had  the  other  blessed  word  put  before  it,  like 
the  sweet  branch  that  grew  above  the  bitter  waters  in  the 
wilderness,  and  that  all  the  meaning  of  life  lay  in  the 
joined  meaning  of  the  two,  —  she  could  but  own  to  herself, 
coming  out  from  this  true  and  hidden  to  the  seeming  and 
palpable  plane  of  affairs,  that  "  Peace  Polly  "  was  a  disad 
vantage,  and  that  from  the  font-side  until  now  she  had 
never  blamed  the  child  for  resenting  and  bewailing  it. 

Rose  Howick,  tea-rose  that  she  was,  justified  and  illus 
trated  her  name  like  a  picture  made  for  it :  pure,  cream- 
brown-tinted  skin,  with  flushing  colors  in  cheek  and  lip, 
never  pronounced  or  fixed  but  always  palpitating  up  or 


ORCHIDS  AND   TEA-ROSES.  57 

away,  like  sky-flushes  in  an  aurora ;  large  gray-hazel  eyes, 
with  straight,  clear  brows  and  shady  lashes ;  hair  that  was 
fair,  or  brown,  or  golden,  or  all  three,  in  differing  strands, 
and  not  in  the  commoner  way  as  the  light  fell  on  it,  so 
that  its  soft,  thick  waves  and  coils  shone  and  darkened  in 
and  out,  one  day  deeper,  one  day  brighter-colored,  as  she 
happened  to  fold  or  twist  them  ;  the  daintiest  lines  and 
curves  of  nose  and  cheek,  and  lip  and  chin,  of  round 
young  figure  and  of  hands  and  feet,  —  there  were  not 
many  who  could  be  looked  at  long  beside  her. 

"  Looked  at  in  the  same  day,"  was  the  expressive  ver 
nacular  in  which  the  Bonnyburians  were  apt  to  put  it. 
But  "  looked  at !  "  thought  Mrs.  Farron ;  of  course  she 
must  be  looked  at ;  therefore  let  her  be  there  ;  and  she 's  a 
nice  girl,  too,  though  nobody  need  fash  themselves  for  her 
opportunities  ;  —  let  her  be  there  and  got  used  to,  or  else 
other  people  will  be  elsewhere.  There  are  some  who  are 
to  be  learned,  not  looked  at ;  with  lovely  depths  to  be 
searched  in  them,  behind  mere  eyes  and  lips.  The  petal 
tips  are  not  all  the  flower  with  them ;  the  cups  of  fra 
grance,  not  crowded  over  with  redoubled  leafings  of  co 
rolla-splendor,  lie  retired  like  tunneled  hearts  of  lilies,  or 
more  curiously  recessed  as  cunning  nectaries  of  orchids. 
Let  the  rose  be  there ;  there  are  always  plenty  of  roses ; 
there  are  not  many  orchises. 

Mrs.  Farron  did  not  sketch  out  this  figure  of  argument 
in  form ;  it  ran  vividly  across  her  mental  retina,  all  the 
same.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  Rose  and  Peace  should 
be  mado  acquaint  ;  and  that  Mr.  Innesley  should  be 
asked  in  now  and  then  to  tea. 

Peace  came  in  one  day  with  a  look  upon  her  brow  as 
of  a  tear-cloud  folded  off  on  the  horizon  of  her  face. 

"Ah,  Peace!"  Mrs.  Farron  greeted  her,  "you  are 
come  well.  I  want  you." 


58  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  I  'm  not  come  well ;  and  I  'm  more  Polly  than  Peace, 
to-day." 

"  Then  I  want  you  all  the  more,  if  you  want  me." 

Peace  Polly  had  her  work  with  her,  a  big  bundle  of 
crocheted  cobwebbery  in  a  muslin  lapbag.  It  foamed  out 
as  she  unrolled  and  tied  on  the  apron,  like  whip-syllabub  ; 
it  was  a  shawl,  that  Mrs.  Farron  had  showed  her  the 
stitch  for,  and  she  meant  it  for  Serena  Wyse. 

"I  wanted  somebody,  and  I  couldn't  go  to  Serena, 
with  this,  —  I  mean  the  shawl,  —  and  I  must  knit  just 
as  fast  as  ever  I  can,  to  keep  from  scratching.  To  go  to 
anybody  is  to  be  a  horrid  telltale  ;  and  yet,  it  does  n't 
mount  to  a  tale,  to  tell.  It 's  myself,  of  course ;  it  always 
is.  I  'm  all  raveled  out  again.  Mrs.  Farron,  what  should 
you  do  if  Dr.  Farron  should  get  up  from  his  breakfast 
and  go  off,  put  out,  because  there  did  n't  happen  to  be 
mustard  ready  mixed  upon  the  table  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Unless  I  gave  him  all  mustard  next 
time." 

"  Oh,  you  can  jest  at  scars  !  And  then,  if  he  should 
come  back  when  everything  else  was  cold,  as  if  it  needed 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  for  that,  and  say  he  could  n't  afford 
to  waste  his  minutes,  if  other  people  could  ?  When  there 
had  been  a  plateful  of  the  brownest,  puffiest  waffles,  that 
you  had  made  yourself  to  please  him,  just  coming  in,  if 
he  had  waited  ?  They  were  like  toasted  leather  when 
he  got  them,  and  he  said  so  !  What  would  you  have 
done  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  should  have  looked  astonished.  Simple  sur 
prise  is  the  best  rebuke,  sometimes." 

"  It 's  too  late  to  be  astonished,"  said  Peace  Polly.  "  I 
can't  begin  that,  now.  He  would  say,  *  Oh,  that 's  the  new 
freak,  is  it?  But  it  won't  make  mustard,  nor  it  won't 
darn  socks  ; '  and  he  'd  pull  his  foot  out  of  his  slipper  to 


ORCHIDS  AND   TEA-ROSES.  59 

show  the  very  only  hole  that  was  in  a  drawerful  that  I  'd 
mended  up  two  days  before  !  "  Peace  Polly  had  here 
caught  up  and  linked  on,  for  illustration,  a  separate  griev 
ance  ;  it  is  but  just  to  say  that  each  successive  minute  did 
not  furnish  one.  "  I  believe  he  thinks  I  'm  some  sort 
of  machine,  and  he  's  inspector.  It 's  no  matter  for  the 
smooth-running ;  that 's  to  be  demanded,  or  it 's  no  ma 
chine  ;  it 's  his  business  to  find  the  flaws ;  if  there 's  a 
hitch,  a  hair's  breadth  miss,  it 's  as  bad  as  a  broken  axle  ; 
it  means  destruction.  —  1  've  tried  a  great  many  new 
freaks,  Mrs.  Farron,"  she  ended,  dolefully,  "  but  they 
all  come  round  to  the  same  old  one.  I  snap  out,  at  the 
end.  And  I  tell  tales.  I  shall  be  just  as  miserable,  by 
and  by,  about  my  talking  so  to  you  as  about  the  rest  of 
it.  And  he  never  snaps  out,  or  talks  me  over ;  he  's  just 
as  still ;  he  thinks  he  's  patient  and  put-upping !  but  he 
puts  me  in  the  meanest  places !  I  don't  suppose  he  '11 
ever  believe  in  me,  or  understand  me,  now." 

"I  don't  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Farron,  with  serious 
kindness,  "  that  you  can  begin  all  over  again  with  your 
brother.  We  can't  live  over ;  we  have  to  overlive.  The 
only  thing  is  to  let  him  see  what  you  really  mean  by  your 
coming  to  it ;  by  your  growing  self-control,  and  your  wise 
ways,  gathered  up  out  of  your  mistakes." 

"  He  would  n't  know,  — he  would  n't  notice.  He  would 
only  think  he  had  managed  with  tremendous  wisdom  him 
self  not  to  exasperate  me,  and  yet  to  break  me  in  so 
beautifully  at  last.  It  would  be  good  to  rub  out  the 
whole  slate,  and  cipher  the  sum  again  by  a  cleverer  rule ; 
but  I  never  can  with  him." 

What  wonder  that  Mrs.  Farron  thought  once  more,  as 
she  was  thinking  almost  daily,  and  with  growing  em 
phasis,  that  the  new  place  and  relation  ought  to  come  in 
this  girl's  life  where  she  could  begin  all  over  afresh,  and 


60  BONNYBOROUGH. 

with  some  one  who  would  believe,  and  notice,  and  under 
stand  ?  It  was  apparent  to  her  at  that  moment  how  life 
is  planned  just  so,  for  man  and  woman,  that  there  should 
he  a  break  from  former  link  and  habit,  often  from  imper 
fection  and  mistake,  and  a  clear,  clean  start  for  the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  best  one  has  grown  to  even  in  desire,  un 
hampered  by  the  poorest  one  has  ever  happened  to  be,  or 
to  get  credit  for. 

So  she  spoke  from  her  thought,  though  not  all  her 
thought. 

"Life  is  full  of  new  beginnings,"  she  said,  cheerily. 
"  Some  change  may  come,  something  is  sure  to  come,  to 
close  one  chapter  and  begin  another.  We  go  on  for  a 
long  time,  thinking  things  can  never  be  different,  and  all 
at  once  some  little  turn,  or  stop,  or  adding  on,  and  it  is 
suddenly  a  new  story  we  are  in,  and  even  a  quite  differ 
ent  self.  We  are  trained  in  episodes.  Your  new  episode 
will  come." 

Peace  Polly  dropped  her  busy  fingers  with  her  needle 
in  the  middle  of  a  stitch.  She  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Farron 
imploringly.  "  Oh,  can't  you  understand  me,  either  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  an  indescribable  pathos.  "Don't  you 
see  it  is  that  I  can't  be  satisfied  until  I  whole-love  my 
brother;  that  it  isn't  the  vexes,  as  they  vex  me,  so 
much  as  that  they  make  him  seem  small  to  me,  and  cheat 
me  of  my  feeling  for  him  ?  Don't  you  see  it  is  n't  change 
I  want,  until  I  have  lived  this  right  ?  What  good  would 
it  do  me  to  go  to  heaven,  even,"  the  girl  went  on  impet 
uously,  "if  behind  me  was  a  piece  of  life  unlived,  a 
piece  of  loving  that  I  had  n't  learned  or  done  ?  If  I 
have  n't  loved  my  brother  whom  I  have  seen,  how  can  I 
love  —  anybody  that  I  have  never  seen  ?  " 

Was  it  heaven,  and  the  home  of  the  Lord,  after  life 
ended,  that  she  entirely  meant  ?  Mrs.  Farron  wondered, 


ORCHIDS  AND   TEA-ROSES.  61 

looking  at  her  face  that  glowed  and  yet  was  pale,  and 
listening  in  her  own  moved  mind  to  the  echo  of  the  words 
so  high  and  strange  to  come,  unstudied,  straight  from  so 
young  a  heart.  She  could  not  tell.  "  How  can  I  love 
anybody  that  I  have  not  seen,"  "I  don't  want  change 
until  I  have  lived  this  right," — was  there  not  in  these  sen 
tences  a  foreseeing  of  a  judgment  in  each  following  gift 
and  opening,  right  on  from  the  present  instant  into  eter 
nity,  that  included  all  unreadiness  and  misfulfillment  of 
human  relation  and  possibility,  and  reached  and  searched 
until  there  came  to  mind  the  utterance  that  might  forbid 
or  darken  the  everlasting  joy,  "  How  came  this  one  hither, 
not  wearing  the  wedding  garment  ?  " 

Would  it  be  a  light  or  easy  thing  to  anticipate,  or  to 
handle  chances,  for  a  girl  like  this,  looking  so  on  and 
through  the  very  heart  of  things  for  herself  ?  Could  one 
get  beyond  or  beneath  her,  in  either  plan  or  probing? 
She  began  to  question  what  Dr.  Farron  himself  could  do 
with  her.  Meanwhile,  what  was  to  be  said  ?  —  for  some 
thing  always  has  to  be  said,  ripe  or  unripe  ;  a  conversation 
can't  drop  in  the  middle,  even  though  all  has  been  spoken 
and  left  the  subject  endless.  What  was  to  be  said  in  an 
swer  to  her  at  this  moment  ?  Perhaps  Mrs.  Farron  did 
as  well  as  could  have  been  done. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  put  right,  dear,"  she  said.  "  You 
want  it  so,  and  I  am  sure  God  wants  it.  But  there  are 
changes  in  selfsame  things  ;  there  are  ways  of  escape  and 
enlarging.  I  have  thought  you  needed  some  little  outside 
ones,  perhaps,  and  I  dare  say  your  brother  needs  them 
too,  if  he  could  be  got  to  take  them.  You  people  in  Bon- 
nyborough  pound  away  too  steadily  each  in  one  spot ;  it 
makes  life  all  pestle  and  mortar ;  you  don't  even  look 
over  to  find  out  what  each  other  is  grinding.  That  was 
what  I  wanted  to  see  you  for.  I  was  going  to  speak  to 
you  about  a  picnic  to  Cape  Campus." 


VIII. 

CAPE   CAMPUS. 

BONNYBOROUGH  lies  but  a  brief  way  back  from  the  sea, 
utterly  inland  as  it  feels  to  be  among  its  rolling,  wooded 
hills  and  in  the  green  nooks  of  its  hollows.  Over  through 
East  Farms  to  the  shore  is  but  a  drive  of  from  six  to  eight 
miles,  as  you  may  strike  it.  Cape  Campus  is  the  farthest 
point,  straight  east,  and  runs  out  its  grand  little  headland, 
between  two  small  sand  beaches  that  curve  away  north 
and  south  till  bounded  by  rock  bluffs  at  either  end,  some 
half  mile  on  the  one  hand,  only  a  furlong  or  so  on  the 
other.  This  last  is  the  pretty  little  "  Brier  Cove,"  scallop 
ing  the  coast-line  with  a  lovely  indentation,  on  whose  land 
ward  edges  the  wild  roses  fling  up  gay,  hardy  heads  to 
the  very  pebble-line  of  the  highest  tide-sweep. 

Cape  Campus  is  the  broad,  rocky  spur-foot  of  a  huge 
ledge.  It  stands  with  broken,  massive  walls  of  seaworn 
cliff  showing  its  foundation  right  and  left,  and  thrusting 
into  the  waters  that  leap  unceasingly  about  its  terminal 
crag  a  great,  fissured,  smooth-beaten  slope,  down  which 
you  can  go  until  you  may  seat  yourself  close  to  the  very 
foam-fringe  of  the  up-pouring  ocean  masses,  that  rear  and 
plunge  and  hurl  themselves  through  gully  and  cranny, 
everywhere  that  the  mysterious  measure  of  the  tide  will 
let,  and  then  slip  and  crawl  and  slaver  back,  like  angry 
and  rebuked  dumb  creatures,  to  gather  force  and  grandeur 
again  for  their  alternate  change  and  apotheosis  to  glorious 
living  personalities  of  power  and  splendor. 


CAPE  CAMPUS.  63 

Across  the  top,  between  foundation  wall  and  wall,  and 
behind  and  above  the  naze,  lies  the  sweet  pasture-field 
from  which  it  is  called  "  Campus."  Tall  grasses,  flowered 
or  seeded,  wave  in  the  sunlight  and  the  crisp  breeze; 
clumps  of  the  wild  rose  redden,  half  the  summer  through, 
to  such  color  as  the  sea-breath  only  gives  ;  delicate  bind 
weed  hangs  its  blossoms  all  over  the  briery,  straggling 
stems ;  and  dangerous,  most  beautiful  ivy  flings  itself 
about  wherever  it  has  been  spared,  and  drops  its  scarfs 
and  streamers  of  shining  green  down  the  gray  rock-faces. 

Oak-trees  grow  all  about  the  down  that  reaches  seaward 
from  the  highway  and  the  villages ;  this  table-stretch 
makes  space  and  pause  between  the  swells  of  land  and 
swells  of  ocean  that,  still,  and  green,  and  summer-rich 
on  one  hand,  and  clear,  cold,  opalesque  upon  the  other, 
roll  from  east  and  west  toward  their  meeting.  There  are 
wagon-tracks  across,  where  the  farmers  come  over  for 
their  rockweed  ;  but  after  the  hay  is  cut  from  these  sea- 
fields,  you  can  drive  almost  anywhere  for  two  or  three 
miles  upon  the  grass  plateau  ;  and  you  could  stop  and  rest 
anywhere  under  the  rich  tree  shades,  and  enjoy  abun 
dantly  of  sky  and  earth  from  horizon  to  horizon,  only  that, 
like  the  dips  of  land  and  the  runs  of  water,  once  started 
toward  the  deep,  we  human  creatures  cannot  stop,  for  the 
spirit  that  is  in  us,  until  we  reach  the  uttermost  edge,  and 
come  face  to  face  with  the  vast  wonder  that  is  not  made 
up  of  many,  like  the  gathering  and  mutual  illustration  of 
field  and  fell,  tree,  grass,  and  flower,  and  the  growth  and 
change  of  them,  but  is  one  great,  unutterable  selfsame 
glory,  majesty,  and  life. 

So  it  is  not  a  trivial  thing  to  come  down  here  to  Cape 
Campus  ;  though  it  seemed  a  fall  from  what  they  had 
been  saying  just  before,  when  Mrs.  Farron  spoke  to  Peace 
Polly  of  the  picnic.  The  outdoor  luncheon,  though  pleas- 


64  BONNYBOROUGH. 

ant  enough  in  itself,  and  sure,  in  Bonnyborough,  to  be 
made  up  of  good  things,  was  a  small  part;  yet  sin«e 
people  must  eat,  and  cannot  travel  a  dozen  miles  and 
tarry  three  or  four  hours  without  going  over  a  meal,  which 
must  therefore  be  put  in  baskets  and  taken  along,  the 
whole  joy  and  delight  and  holiday  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
material  providing. 

"  Let  us  all  go  down  and  look  at  the  glory  of  the  sea ; 
let  us  get  together  in  that  wonderful  presence-chamber, 
where  the  airs  blow  in  from  the  infinite,  and  will  fill  us 
full  of  new  breath  of  life !  "  —  suppose  Mrs.  Farron  had 
said  that,  which  was  what  she  meant.  Of  course,  we  can 
suppose  no  such  thing ;  it  was  but  sane  and  practical  to 
say,  "  Let  us  pack  up  our  eatables,  and  go  and  have  our 
dinner  at  the  shore."  But  everybody  understands  the 
commonest  speech  in  the  tongue  to  which  he  is  born. 

The  Bonnyburians  seldom  got  together  in  this  fashion  ; 
when  they  did,  they  had  a  way  of  doing  it  with  a  particular 
and  original  wisdom.  I  don't  know  who  first  suggested 
it,  but  it  came  about,  and  is  a  good  thing  to  mention  and 
make  known.  Somebody,  on  some  far  back  occasion,  who 
had  organized  a,  fete  champetre,  had  said,  "  Now,  no  het 
erogeneity  !  no  big  panniers,  full  of  everything.  One 
thing  only  in  one  basket,  and  everything  in  baskets  ;  then 
our  table  is  set  beforehand." 

So,  at  this  day,  if  you  go  to  Bonnyborough,  and  have 
the  luck  to  get  into  a  picnic  there,  you  will  find  it  so  :  a 
lot  of  little  splint  fruit-pails,  probably,  some  small  woven 
willow  pottles,  even  bright  pails  of  tin, —  none  larger  than 
a  two-quart  capacity  ;  one  holding  spicy  doughnuts,  another 
crisp  and  melting  sugar  cookies,  wafer-thin  and  aromatic 
with  caraway  seeds  ;  another  sponge-cake,  and  another 
cheese,  —  the  first  foam,  the  second  cream,  how  held  to 
gether  nobody  could  tell ;  then  there  would  be  one  of 


CAPE   CAMPUS.  65 

toasted  crackers  and  tongue  slices,  and  one  of  fine-chopped 
soft-spread  sandwiches ;  and  so  on  and  so  on,  through 
such  a  category  of  deliciousness  as  you  would  scarcely  for 
give  me  for  setting  forth  with  only  printer's  ink  and  paper, 
—  all  these  tempting  little  severalties  packed,  in  their  turn, 
by  the  half  dozen,  perhaps,  in  market-hampers  for  mere 
carriage,  but  all  ready  to  serve  as  single  dishes  when  un 
laden.  No  hurry,  no  confusion,  no  placing  and  displacing 
and  replacing,  therefore,  but  the  swiftest,  simplest  table- 
spreading  and  the  easiest  waiting  ;  the  easiest  picking  up, 
also,  when  all  is  over ;  for  it  hardly  matters  which  gets 
which,  any  more  than  what  is  done  with  the  grocer's  paper 
plates  from  which  they  have  eaten.  And  every  one  car 
ries  knife  and  fork  and  spoon  and  napkin,  either  or  all, 
and  takes  care  of  them  or  loses  them  on  personal  respon 
sibility.  Bonnyborough  understands  the  philosophy  of 
picnicking  ;  it  is  to  be  perfectly  individual  and  delightfully 
congregate,  both  at  once.  I  dare  say  this  comes  of  the 
very  thing  Mrs.  Farron  half  deplored  and  reprobated  : 
that  they  live  so  individually  ;  are  so  grained  off,  as  one 
might  say,  cohered  and  rounded  in  their  entities,  that  no 
amount  of  crowding  or  mixing  makes  them  substantially 
a  mass,  or  in  the  least  approach  fluid;  there  is  visible, 
palpable  space  about  each  atom,  and  there  is  palpable 
atomic  law  and  working.  As  to  that,  the  thing  is  largely 
characteristic  of  New  England  ;  we  are  individuals  here, 
instead  of  classes  ;  and  it  is  class  that  makes  mass.  Bon 
nyborough  is,  but  with  some  peculiar  intensity,  New  Eng 
lish. 

Peace  Polly  had  not  supposed  that  Lyman  would  con 
descend,  or  extravagate,  to  the  picnic.  He  did,  however  ; 
which  was  what  might  have  been  expected,  the  unlooked- 
for  being  precisely  what,  in  certain  circumstances,  was  to 
be  calculated  on  from  him.  Only,  the  circumstances  cer- 


66  BONNYBOROUGH. 

tain  to  himself  were  apt  to  be  uncertain  and  unarguable 
to  all  others. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  won't  go  to  this,  Lyman,"  Polly 
had  said  to  him,  and  was  going  on  to  adduce  that  Dr. 
Farron  himself  was  to  be  there,  and  that  Dr.  Blithecome 
had  said  he  should  drive  down  in  the  afternoon  for  a  salt 
whiff  and  a  look  at  the  roses  ;  but  Lyman  quietly  pre 
vented  her  with  "  There  is  no  why  ;  I  'm  going." 

At  which,  Polly,  having  started  to  ride  a  tilt,  was 
cleanly  unhorsed.  She  stared  amiably,  picked  herself  up, 
and  remarked,  "  That 's  good  of  you.  I  'm  very  glad." 

There  were  to  be  no  foreigners  at  the  picnic.  Jennie 
Cramhall  had  said,  tentatively,  that  Lou  and  she  could 
not  both  be  spared  to  go  unless  they  took  their  boarders 
with  them.  But  Peace  Polly  said,  "  We  don't  want 
strangers.  It  is  our  turn  not  to.  It  takes  too  long  to  get 
acquainted.  We  go  to  the  seashore  for  a  holiday,  not  to 
undertake  a  new  set  of  social  duties.  People  who  join  a 
picnic  ought  to  be  like  the  baskets,  all  ready  to  catch  up 
and  go  right  along  with  ;  and  the  provision  inside  them  of 
a  sort  to  be  pretty  well  counted  on  beforehand.  We  're 
sorry  to  lose  either  of  you,  but  one  of  you  is  worth  all  your 
transients  to  us."  And  Peace  Polly  had  Mrs.  Farron  be 
hind  her ;  therefore  so  it  was.  There  befell  one  day  of 
that  summer  in  Bonnyborough  when  the  city  people  had 
the  half-vacated  village  to  themselves,  and  could  not  well 
get  far  out  of  it.  Every  horse  and  vehicle  of  any  pre 
tension  was  drafted  for  Campus,  besides  the  "  rigging  " 
and  pair  that  carried  the  straw-riders.  The  ladies  with 
country  toilets  carefully  suggestive  of  metropolitan  art 
and  resource,  and  the  young  men  with  water-cart  whisk 
ers  and  successful  British  intonations,  took  their  turn  at 
standing  about  or  sitting  on  piazzas,  to  see  the  equipment 
and  start-off  of  the  simple,  and  to  stare,  as  the  simple  had 


CAPE  CAMPUS.  67 

been  supposed  to  have  stared  —  only  they  never  did  — 
at  themselves. 

By  nine  o'clock,  the  main  street  was  as  quiet  as  the 
church  aisle  on  a  week  day,  and  old  Mr.  Milleneyer  might 
have  taken  his  sea-chair  nap  upon  the  hayscales.  The 
very  baker's  cart  had  gone  round  early  to  accommodate 
the  occasion.  Pedestrians  were  independent ;  Raspberry 
Ridge  or  Dimple  Pond  or  Squarrock  Fall  might  have  been 
visited,  had  they  not  been  nearly  done  to  death  already, 
or  seemed  so  to-day,  in  comparison  with  the  breezy,  briny 
holiday-keeping  beside  the  sea  ;  otherwise,  the  Great  Ju- 
cundandum  was  reduced  to  piazza  crochet,  backgammon, 
the  magazines,  and  the  last  society-skim  of  Mr.  Swella- 
dore's  novelettes,  or  to  the  eternal  love-ten,  love-fifteen, 
love-all-the-way-up-to-forty,  of  lawn  tennis. 

The  arrival  and  alighting  of  a  pleased  pleasure-party 
upon  its  ground  is  a  pretty  thing  to  see.  It  is  like-  the 
lighting  of  a  flock  of  northward  summering  birds  in  a 
field  new-seeded  for  their  wayside  halt.  And  that,  not 
because  of  the  mere  gain  of  what  the  one  spot  affords,  but 
for  the  sense  of  wings  just  folded  at  quick  will,  of  all 
heaven  open  to  flee  back  into,  of  all  choice  and  privilege 
and  plenty  out  of  which  they  take  this  for  the  time  being, 
with  a  whole  world-full  waiting  for  the  time  to  be. 

The  outdoor  wideness,  the  blue  of  sky,  the  shine  of 
sun,  the  wave  of  tree,  the  smile  of  grass,  replacing  the 
every  day  of  wall  and  ceiling  and  furniture,  and  mere 
door  and  window  outlook,  is  a  great  new  world  into 
which  life  breaks,  if  only  for  a  day,  from  the  discarded 
shell  of  need  and  custom.  It  is  a  breath  of  spirit  freedom 
that  dilates  every  figure,  gives  spring  to  every  step  and 
poise,  and  plays  upon  every  face.  It  is  the  first  moment 
that  most  glorifies,  like  all  beautiful  first  moments  ;  be 
cause  it  has  in  it  a  wholeness  of  delight  that  does  not 


68  BONNYBOROUGH. 

stop  to  test  detail,  and  is  not  touched  with  any  weariness 
or  interruption  that  must  come  in  the  measuring  and  veri 
fying,  item  by  item,  of  almost  any  joy. 

Everything  was  theirs,  and  everything  was  untouched, 
unspoiled.  Dresses  and  tempers  were  fresh ;  people  all 
looked  pretty.  The  enchantment  of  distance  was  at  least 
speedily  within  the  resource  of  all,  and  the  outdoor 
breadth  is  a  wonderful  advantager  and  averager.  Even 
the  inevitable,  all-surviving  white  piques  and  Roman 
scarfs  scattered  themselves  pleasantly  among  the  dusky 
oak  shadows,  and  gave  touches  of  color  becoming  to  the 
landscape,  if  not  always  of  best  effect  in  personal  concen 
tration.  But  who  wants  to  be  self-concentrate  in  a  gen 
eral,  generous,  open-air,  all-f or-everybody  festival  ?  Is  it 
not  the  very  essence  of  the  thing  to  contribute  ? 

Fresh  lawns  and  ginghams  fluttered  delicate  hems  or 
ruffles  among  the  grassheads  around  dainty  feet,  reached 
by  the  running  breezes  in  which  the  grasses  nodded  ;  gay- 
striped  tennis  suits  emblazoned  the  sea-scoured  rocks ; 
Jennie  Cramhall  had  on  a  pigeon-gray  petticoat  and  a 
jersey  of  Burgundy  crimson,  and  was  like  a  tropical  car 
dinal-bird  gale-drifted  over ;  among  them  all,  Rose  How- 
ick  and  Peace  Polly  Schott  were  the  prettiest  clothed. 
There  were  other  garments  beside  theirs  of  soft  summer 
woolen,  —  Mrs.  Farron,  Miss  Serena,  and  Miss  Mallis  had 
them,  of  one  neutrality  or  another  ;  but  these  two  were 
just  dressed  as  if  no  other  array  could  possibly  have  hap 
pened  upon  either.  By  hap  or  forethought,  also,  all 
adorning  had  been  left  until  they  had  come  to  the  sweet, 
free  fineries  of  the  shore. 

Rose  Howick's  gown  was  of  wool-muslin,  in  a  shade 
you  could  not  call  either  brown  or  olive  or  green,  but  a 
sober-sunny  mingling  of  all  three,  like  the  rich  duskiness 
of  half-grown  leafage  that  wraps  some  of  her  namesake 


CAPE  CAMPUS.  69 

blossoms.  She  had  not  been  three  minutes  on  her  feet 
before  a  bunch  of  glorious  sea-daisies  was  thrust  into  her 
belt,  and  their  golden  eyes,  with  the  leaning  of  their 
stems  against  the  sweet  bend  of  her  young  figure,  seemed 
looking  down  with  gentle  amaze  of  proud  preferment 
upon  their  fellows  in  the  grass.  Another  bunch  was  cun 
ningly  tucked  up  between  crown  and  brim  of  the  small- 
peaked  hat,  innocent  till  then  of  all  bedizenment  save  the 
full-knotted  scarf  of  silk,  bronze-tinted  shadow-green  like 
the  color  of  the  dress. 

Peace  Polly  wore  an  American-blue  bunting,  fitted  in 
plaits,  and  roundly  belted  in ;  not  so  much  as  a  button 
showing  upon  it  to  make  it  gay,  only  the  crispest  of  little 
white  crimped  ruffles  at  throat  and  wrist ;  but  she  also  had 
quickly  gathered  a  summer-token  of  red  roses  for  a  breast- 
knot,  and  set  some  thornless  tip-sprays  with  pointed  buds 
of  vivid  crimson,  like  young  flames  from  their  live  stems, 
against  the  full  coil  of  her  dark-brown  hair  that  showed 
itself  so  quietly  below  the  small  black-straw  bonnet  crossed 
with  blue. 

Other  people  had  put  things  on,  more  or  less  congruous, 
that  they  had  before,  and  had  come  there  in  them ;  these 
two  were  of  the  very  day  itself,  and  the  day  had  dressed 
them. 

Once  scattered,  nothing  but  dinner  or  a  thunder-shower 
would  draw  or  drive  the  crowd  of  them  together  again. 
Like  all  the  rest,  —  like  the  very  societies  above  and 
beneath,  —  we  have  therefore  but  to  choose  and  follow  our 
own  group. 

Shells  and  weeds  in  Brier  Cove  drew  a  rambling  party 
quickly  together ;  a  net,  racquets,  and  balls  had  been 
smuggled  down,  and  kept  a  few  inveterates,  who  might  as 
well  have  been  in  any  common  field  or  orchard,  upon  the 
oak-tree  down,  near  where  the  horses  and  wagons  had  been 


70  BONNYBOROUGH. 

picketed.  There  were  two  or  three  sketchers  posted  here 
and  there  with  pads  and  pencils,  or  blocks  and  paints  ;  and 
some  who  had  come  for  the  mere  sake  of  wind,  and  wave, 
and  sun,  and  all  the  beautiful  rush  of  vital  gladness  from 
the  free  hemisphere  they  shaped  an,d  filled,  had  left  as 
much  of  earth  invisible  behind  them  as  they  could  get 
away  from,  and  on  far-out  reaches  of  the  Campus  Cliff 
had  found  low,  seaward  nooks,  where  they  could  lean 
against  some  sun-warmed  break  or  slope  of  granite,  and 
sit  quiet  for  the  lovely  turmoil  to  beat  close  up  and  about 
them  with  heaving,  sweeping,  shattering  changes  of  gor 
geous  color  and  grand  volume,  and  swift  outpour  and  gath 
ering  back,  in  mass  and  crest,  and  hollow  and  spread,  and 
tiny,  truant,  half-lost  runs  and  dribbles  of  the  gloriously 
wasteful  water,  that  flung  itself  everywhere  in  seeming 
of  sheer  wantonness,  yet  only  in  that  perfect  liberty  of  a 
mighty  law  in  whose  hold  not  a  drop  could  really  get  astray 
or  stay  beyond,  to  fail  of  rendering  again  its  little  meas 
ure  to  the  vast  bulk  that  up  and  down  the  jagged  conti 
nent-line  still  keeps,  from  tide  to  tide,  the  awful  sea-brim 
even. 

The  group  we  want  is  down  here,  upon  the  white  fore 
foot  of  Campus  Crag. 

Each  side  the  water-rush  booms  up  into  deep  fissure 
and  inlet  or  along  slow  rock-incline,  pushing  with  every 
pulse  a  little  on  or  over,  making  swift,  long  thrusts  where 
some  narrow  scoop  or  level  matches  the  tide-gain,  or  toss 
ing  fretted  spume,  beat  after  beat,  across  some  tiny  rock- 
head  bravely  holding  up,  by  ever  less  and  less  of  its  un- 
smothered  height,  against  the  urgent  onset,  until  at  last 
one  smooth,  complacent  wave  pours  easy  triumph  clean 
athwart,  and  makes  a  clear,  round  water-knoll  above  the 
vanished  crown. 

"  It  gains,  and  gains,  and  at  last  gives  up  itself,  and 


CAPE  CAMPUS.  71 

goes  back  beaten.  The  sea  is  disappointing,  after  all," 
said  Peace  Polly.  "  I  always  long  so  to  see  it  do  a  little 
more." 

"Don't  we  long  that  for  everything?"  asked  Serena 
Wyse.  "  Even  when  a  frightful  wind  blows,  or  a  great 
fire  rages,  even  when  we  are  afraid  or  sorry,  is  n't  there 
a  strange  wish  underneath  to  see  how  a  little  more  would 
seem  ?  " 

"  I  remember  I  felt  that  in  the  great  September  gale," 
said  Mrs.  Farron.  "  A  whole  orchard  of  little  trees  lay 
flat  between  my  window  and  the  road,  and  a  great  larch 
had  fallen  beside  the  gate.  I  stood  and  looked,  and  said, 
Oh,  how  tremendous  !  but  all  the  time  I  was  so  in  the  wild 
spirit  of  the  thing  that  it  was  as  if  I  myself  were  the  tem 
pest,  struggling  with  the  elms  that  bent  themselves  over 
double,  but  would  not  go  down.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not 
let  them  off  until  they  did.  I  always  want  more  in  an  au 
rora,  and  I  never  saw  enough  shooting-stars,  though  I  was 
up  and  out  all  night  in  the  meteor  rain  of  '65.  And  the 
only  earthquake  I  was  ever  in  was  such  a  mild  shake,  and 
so  quickly  over,  that  it  was  really  a  defrauding  that  it 
did  not  come  again  and  let  us  know  better  what  it  could 
be  like." 

"  Wifie  !  "  came  Dr.  Farron's  voice  from  behind  them, 
in  one  of  the  water-lulls  which  alone  let  them  hear  easily 
each  other's  speech.  He  had  but  caught  the  earthquake 
sentence. 

"  That  always  means,"  said  Mrs.  Dora,  " '  I  'm  one  with 
you,  but  we  're  both  wrong.'  Yes,  dear,"  she  called  back 
to  him.  « It 's  very  bold,  but  it 's  bold  truth.  We  don't 
like  to  come  to  limits,  until  it  is  a  clear  question  of  bodily 
danger.  Then  the  desire  shifts  sides,  of  course.  The 
mind  has  its  own  little  vehicle  to  take  care  of,  and  is  n't 
free  for  cosmic  revel.  Aside  from  that,  we  just  want 


72  BONNYBOROUGH. 

everything  to  happen  !  I  truly  can't  sometimes  see  "  — 
but  the  little  lady's  voice  took  a  changed  tone  with  the  last 
five  words,  and  she  left  her  say  unfinished. 

Mr.  Innesley  was  closer  than  the  Doctor  had  been,  a 
little  below  the  group  of  ladies,  and  the  soft  land  wind 
blew  down  his  way.  He  had  heard  all  quite  plainly. 

"  You  can't  see  what,  Mrs.  Farron  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  How  God  refrains  his  utmost,"  she  replied,  with  awe. 

Dr.  Farron  had  come  round  beside  the  young  clergy 
man,  and  had  gathered  understanding  of  the  thing  in 
thought.  "  He  does  not,"  he  said.  "  His  utmost  is  the 
balance  ;  his  will  on  all  the  sides." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  and  that  keeps  our  wills  down.  We  are  the 
poor  things  that  can  only  feel  one  side,  —  our  own,"  said 
Mrs.  Dora. 

"  Is  that  all  our  wanting,  I  wonder  ?  Because  we  don't 
know  the  other  that  our  want  gives  way  to  ?  " 

Those  words  came  half  voluntarily  from  Peace  Polly. 

"That's  all  our  passion,"  said  Dr.  Farron.  "Our 
wanting  is  something  that  waits  quieter  and  surer.  It  is 
on  God's  side." 

"  Who  is  Wholeness,  having  neither  parts  nor  passions," 
said  the  young  deacon,  discerning  a  wonderful  meaning 
suddenly  in  something  nearly  meaningless  whim  before. 

"  Only  corn-passion  ;  the  divine  difference  from  the  hu 
man,"  answered  Dr.  Farron. 

"  But  the  corn-passion  enters  in,  feels  with,  seems  there 
fore  to  allow,"  returned  Mr.  Innesley. 

"  Passion  is  the  suffering  of  the  waiting !  "  cried  Peace 
Polly,  not  half  knowing  the  fullness  of  what  she  said. 

"  It  seems  to  me  we  are  going  very  deep,"  said  Rose 
Howick,  in  her  sweet  way.  "  Passion  is  temper,  impa 
tience,  hurry  to  have,  that  sort  of  one-sidedness,  is  n't  it  ? 
And  the  other  side,  that  might  keep  us  straight,  is  calm- 


CAPE   CAMPUS.  73 

ness,  fairness,  a  quiet,  lovely  way,  —  the  *  virtue  and  the 
praise '  ?  It  might  stop  us  just  to  think  how  little  graceful 
it  is  to  be  in  a  passion." 

"  Graceful  ?  But  it  might  be  grand ! "  broke  forth  Peace 
Polly. 

"  About  little  petty  things  ?  " 

"  No ;  that  is  what  I  would  like  to  be  able  to  save  up 
from,  without  growing  too  amiable  for  the  other.  Not 
because  of  the  gracefulness,  though  ;  it  would  make  me 
furious  not  to  be  able  to  go  deeper  than  that !  " 

"  I  thought  we  were  only  considering  a  safe  balance," 
said  Rose  Howick,  pleasantly. 

"  And  a  very  poor  stick  may  sometimes  help  us  small 
acrobats  to  keep  that,"  said  Mr.  Innesley,  smiling  upon 
pretty  Rose,  who  had  towed  the  conversation  back  to 
shoaler  water,  certainly. 

None  the  less,  what  Peace  Polly  had  said,  and  the  out- 
rightness  of  it,  remained  in  his  mind,  the  beginning  of  a 
very  fresh  interest.  Real  individuals  were  wonderfully 
attractive  to  Mr.  Innesley.  He  found  them  tolerably 
rare. 

"  We  have  n't  got  out  of  our  limits,"  said  Dr.  Farron, 
"  or  found  or  said  any  very  new  thing.  We  began  with 
Job,  about  the  reservings  and  bindings  of  creation,  and 
we  have  come  round  to  the  blessed  antidotes  of  St.  Paul. 
Perhaps  now  we  had  better  go  up  the  cliff  again,  and 
see  what  some  of  our  contemporary  fellow-creatures  are 
about." 


IX. 

THORNS. 

Miss  MALLIS  was  up  there ;  she  had  got  hold  of  Ly- 
man  Schott  and  Mr.  Dawney  the  minister,  and  was  half 
amusing,  half  shocking,  and  wholly  astonishing  them, 
after  her  way,  with  sharp,  audacious  speeches  that  had, 
nevertheless,  to  do  her  full  justice,  as  often  as  not  some 
fair  foundation  of  sense  and  sagacity  as  well  as  mere 
smartness.  Judith  and  Ruth  Dawney,  Jenny  and  Benny 
Cramhall,  and  the  Holistons,  Dianthe  and  Sarah  and 
Quincy  Adams,  had  followed  along,  sure  of  some  game  or 
diversion  where  Miss  Mallis  was  ;  and  the  party  was  set 
tling  itself  along  the  "  Lounge  Rocks  "  upon  the  southerly 
reach  of  the  cliff,  where  the  rounded  or  slanting  out 
crops  were  cushioned,  between  their  frequent  splits  and  at 
their  turf-bound  edges,  with  the  short,  elastic  sea-grass 
that  grew  up  over  and  seemed  to  bed  in  the  old,  bleached, 
snaggy  stones,  quite  concealing  the  fact  of  its  own  shal 
low  concretion  and  the  unity  of  the  vast,  age-worn  mass 
whose  mountain  roots  were  somewhere  away  below  all 
reach  or  measurement,  between  the  ocean  undercalm  and 
the  everlasting  fires. 

The  merrymakers  sat  down  comfortably  among  the 
crown  pinnacles  of  the  sea-alp,  nor  dreamed  how  really 
high  they  were,  nor  what  a  piling  and  upheaving  there 
had  had  to  be  of  old  to  build  this  basin-rim  against  whose 
lip  the  torrents  were  rolled  up,  and  where,  at  the  surface 
of  the  mights  and  wonders,  they  should  find  ready,  careless 
resting-place,  in  the  shine  of  a  sweet  summer  morning. 


THORNS.  75 

Miss  Mallis  wanted  them  all  to  play  a  game,  a  conver 
sational  one,  while  they  sat  there  and  rested  before  din 
ner.  Miss  Mallis  was  good  at  these  little  tournaments  of 
mental  quickness  and  telling  repartee.  "People  must 
have  something,"  was  her  argument,  "  and  I  do  what 
I  can.  It 's  as  good  as  lawn  tennis,  any  way.  And  that 
leaves  me  out  in  the  cold,  you  see,  for  it  only  counts  up 
to  forty." 

"  Mr.  Schott,"  she  said,  "you  must  shake  the  sawdust 
and  shavings  all  off  your  feet,  and  the  buzz  of  the  steam 
plane  and  chisels  out  of  your  brain,  to-day.  And  I  won't 
have  Mr.  Dawney  thinking  up  his  sermon  for  next  Sun 
day.  Sufficient  unto  the  —  wise  is  a  word,  you  know." 

She  managed  the  shift  of  her  allusion  without  any  act 
ual  light  quoting.  Not  even  the  minister  could  find  room 
for  reproof  or  check ;  his  half-startled  look  at  her  hung 
fire  with  eyelids  raised  midway.  She  delighted  in  half- 
startling  serious  people,  and  then  leaving  them  there  sine 
causa.  But  to  help  Mr.  Dawney's  eyelids  down  with 
dignity  she  did  point  over  to  the  opposite  cliff. 

"  The  water  is  almost  up  to  the  Wolf's  Hole,"  she  said. 
"  Some  folks  call  it  the  Devil's  Den  ;  but  that  is  so  worn 
out,  you  know.  There 's  always  a  Devil's  Den,  and  a 
Spouting  Horn,  and  a  Pulpit  Rock,  at  every  shore  place, 
and  in  every  wild,  bouldery  pasture  ;  that 's  the  pulpit, 
there,  swarming  with  boys,  as  pulpits  mostly  are,  right 
directly  over  the  De —  Den.  Seems  to  me  it  might  do 
more  good  if  't  was  planted  square  down  in  the  face  of  it, 
—  don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Dawney  ?  Why,  there  is  n't  a 
calmer,  more  unconscious  place  on  all  Campus  than  that 
sunny  Pulpit  Rock.  The  highest  spray  never  touches  it ; 
it  does  n't  know  what  the  sea-beat  is ;  but  down  there, 
the  waves  go  tearing  in  and  out  of  the  Wolf's  Hole  every 
three-quarters  tide,  with  an  uproar  of  more  than  a  thou- 


76  BONNYBOROUGH. 

sand-preacher  power.  It 's  always  done  it,  and  it  always 
will." 

"  I  thought  sermons  had  been  interdicted,"  said  Mr. 
Dawney,  with  his  quiet  smile,  yet  looking  as  though  the 
carelessly  flung  word  had  touched  some  tender  loyalty  in 
him,  quick  always  to  truth's  countersign,  however  ren 
dered. 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Miss  Mallis ;  "  only  the  taking 
thought  for  them  for  three  to-morrows  ahead.  You  can't 
hinder  the  sermons  in  the  stones,  of  course,  nor  an  old 
hen's  lay  cackle.  There  may  turn  out  to  be  sermons  in 
my  game,  too,"  she  went  on,  as  the  other  party  ap 
proached  them  up  the  slope.  "  It  will  all  be  according  to 
the  players ;  and  here  are  Dr.  Farron  and  Mr.  Innesley. 
Really,  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  escape  with  so  much 
clergy." 

She  made  room  for  them,  and  invited  them  to  seats,  as 
she  spoke.  It  happened  that  Dr.  Farron  took  a  place  be 
side  her.  Rose  and  Peace  Polly  passed  a  little  aside  and 
back,  and  Mrs.  Farron  and  Miss  Serena  came  between. 
Lyman  Schott  was  near  by,  in  front,  on  an  outpushing 
projection;  it  was  a  point  of  possible  danger  to  a  less 
heedful  person,  which  I  think  was  why  he  had  occupied 
it.  The  few  boys  who  were  about  looked  hatreds  and  ven 
geances  at  him  accordingly. 

"  We  're  just  going  to  play  (  Thoughts,' "  said  Miss 
Mallis,  begging  the  acquiescence ;  "  and  there  are  two 
ways,  you  know.  Shall  it  be  Hap-hazard,  or  Abstract- 
and-Tangible  ?  " 

"  We  could  n't  venture  to  answer  Hap  -  hazard,  of 
course,"  said  Mrs.  Farron.  "  Suppose  you  explain  your 
Abstract-and-Tangible,  and  the  difference  ?  " 

"  One  is  conundrums,  and  the  other  is  correspondence," 
returned  Miss  Mallis,  oracularly.  "  One  way  you  think 


THORNS.  77 

anything  and  say  anything,  and  then  find  out  why ;  the 
other  you  only  think  of  abstracts,  and  you  compare  with 
substantive  facts.  For  instance,  Dr.  Farron,  I  think  of 
something  intangible.  What  is  it  like,  tangible  ?  " 

"  Like  that  little  boat  on  the  beach  down  there,"  re 
plied  the  Doctor. 

"  Well,  I  thought  of  Theology!  " 

"  I  might  say,  perhaps,  that  it  had  been  lugged  in,  as  it 
often  is,"  rejoined  the  Doctor,  dryly. 

"  You  're  not  stranded,  any  way !  "  said  the  lady,  in  a 
laughing  half  whisper. 

"  Did  you  mean  me  to  be  ?  But  now  I  Ve  got  a 
thought.  Miss  Serena,  what  is  it  like,  in  the  concrete  ?  " 

"  Like  sticking-plaster." 

"  Beauty  ;  why  ?  " 

"  Best  sort  won't  rub  off,"  Miss  Serena  answered,  with 
quiet  quickness,  which  a  general  laugh  applauded. 

Lyman  Schott  looked  round  from  his  perch,  and  caught 
her  eye.  It  was  but  a  homely  bit  of  aptness,  scarcely 
wit,  but  it  served  for  a  little  pleased  exchange  between 
them.  That  it  did  so  might  have  told  them  something 
that  was  but  waiting  under  contradiction. 

Miss  Serena  spoke  across  to  him.  "  What  is  my  thought 
like,  Mr.  Schott  ?  " 

He  had  not  counted  on  this.  "  Oh,  a  broken  bone,"  he 
answered,  at  most  desperate  random,  taking  the  sugges 
tion,  perhaps,  from  the  opportunities  of  the  place. 

"  I  thought  of  Plenty." 

"  Well,"  said  Lyman,  recovering  his  slow  sobriety, 
"  when  a  man 's  got  that  he  don't  want  any  more,  does 
he  ?  "  —  which  drew  a  shout ;  then  came  a  pause. 

"  But  you  must  think,"  said  Miss  Mallis,  as  mistress  of 
ceremonies  ;  "  it 's  your  turn.  Something  fine  and  phil 
osophical,  now." 


78  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Very  weU,  ma'am.     Likeness  ?  " 

"  Like  my  thumb." 

"  Common  sense,"  declared  Lyman. 

"  I  might  say  I  've  got  considerable  of  it,"  said  Miss 
Mallis,  holding  up  contemplatively  a  generously  propor 
tioned  member,  "  but  I  won't.  If  I  had  n't  got  it  of  my 
own,  I  could  n't  borrow  any  ;  there  !  " 

"  Mr.  Dawney,  I  've  thought  again.     Compare,  please." 

"  This  bit  of  driftwood."  He  held  a  piece  curiously 
moulded  and  veined  like  a  leaf-shaped  fungus.  Mrs.  Far- 
ron  had  shown  it  to  him ;  she  had  picked  it  up,  and  was 
treasuring  it  for  a  bracket. 

"  Worldly  wisdom.  I  thought  I  'd  take  an  opposite 
this  time  ;  why  is  it  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  must  transfer  the  question  with  the  property.  Mrs. 
Farron  can  tell  us,  probably." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Dora,  accepting  the  scrap  of  wreck 
age  and  the  commission  with  instant,  undemurring  tact, 
"it  is  very  smooth,  very  polished,  bears  the  marks  of 
long  experience,  comes  in  with  the  tide  in  a  comfort 
able  sort  of  way  ;  but  it  is  rotten  and  worthless,  really, 
and  gets  left  high  and  dry  at  last.  Mr.  Innesley,  what 
thing  is  Mr.  Dawney's  present  thought  like  ;  for  I  sup 
pose  he  is  to  give  it  to  me  to  pass  on  ?  " 

"  Like  this  wild  rose,"  said  Mr.  Innesley. 

Good  Mr.  Dawney  was  already  at  least  three  to-morrows 
beyond  or  above  the  game  again.  Mrs.  Farron  would  have 
supplied  the  thought  herself,  and  left  him  so ;  but  Miss 
Mallis  poked  the  minister's  shoulder  softly  with  her  par 
asol. 

"Your  thought,  Mr.  Dawney,  please.  Mrs.  Farron 
wants  it,  and  we  're  all  waiting.  I  'm  sure  you  have  one." 

The  serene  old  face  turned  round  toward  her  from  the 
sunlit  ocean. 


THORNS.  79 

«  Yes,  —  Peace,"  he  said,  not  without  gentle  satire. 

Miss  Mallis  and  Mrs.  Farron  looked  amused,  and  in 
stantly,  on  both  faces,  the  amusement  deepened  with  a 
further  perception  of  application  and  consequence,  of 
which  the  good  pastor  was  most  profoundly  innocent. 

Mrs.  Farron  wondered  what  Mr.  Innesley  would  make 
of  it,  and  reflected  that  it  was  none  of  her  plot  or  doing, 
all  in  the  flash  of  time  in  which  she  drew  back  to  give  the 
word. 

"  The  Peace  that  passeth  —  comprehension,"  whispered 
Miss  Mallis,  all  aglee,  and  nodding  over  toward  Peace 
Polly,  who,  not  following  the  turns  of  the  game,  and  leav 
ing  Mr.  Innesley  to  draw  off  Rose  Howick  into  pleasant 
interludes  of  talk,  was  gazing  away  after  something  be 
yond  her  horizon,  quite  as  abstractedly  as  any  third-to 
morrow  preacher  of  them  all. 

Mrs.  Farron  breathed  a  sibilant  rebuke  through  the 
edges  of  her  teeth.  "  Sh !  "  she  said.  It  was  not  the 

<3 

soft  contraction  of  a  "  hush !  "  so  much  as  the  first  in 
dignant  sound  of  a  scarcely  repressed  "  shame  !  "  But 
Miss  Mallis  went  on  whispering  her  little  laugh,  and 
wondering,  with  eyes  all  but  audible  with  fun,  what  the 
Rev.  Richard  would  do  now. 

"  Mr.  Innesley,  why  is  Peace  like  a  wild  rose  ?  " 

The  clear  voice  shot  through  a  sudden  silence,  and 
everybody  heard. 

Peace  Polly,  with  the  roses  on  her  bosom  shining  and 
breathing  up  into  her  face,  started  and  flushed  like  them, 
catching  the  whole  question  without  previous  noting  of 
its  parts. 

Mr.  Innesley  turned  the  stem  of  his  brier-blossom  gently 
in  his  fingers,  regarding  it  thoughtfully. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  "  if  a  man  would  gain  it,  he  must 
brave  the  thorns !  " 


80  BONNYBOROUGH. 

That  was  irresistible.  Miss  Mallis  laughed  aloud.  A 
queer  little  smile  played  and  quenched  itself  upon  Mrs. 
Farron's  face.  Lyman  Schott  lifted  his  eyebrows  and 
cleared  his  throat,  and  sent  a  look,'  that  was  curiously 
amused  and  concerned  at  once,  toward  his  sister.  A 
smile  and  rustle  went  round  ;  other  than  these  indications 
there  was  only  that  extinguished  silence  that  implies  a 
putting-out  of  something  or  somebody  in  a  social  circle. 

It  did  not  last  longer  than  to  begin  to  be  felt.  Mrs. 
Farron  spoke  out :  — 

"  I  should  have  said  "  —  the  words  came  clearly  and 
significantly  —  "  that  there  was  a  rare  thing  to  be  per 
fected  on  earth,  and  so  it  was  set,  for  safety  of  its  own 
growth,  among  the  thorns  !  " 

Peace  Polly  had  turned  her  face  toward  the  sea  again ; 
that  was  all  Mrs.  Farron  could  be  sure  of  as  she  spoke ; 
but  by  some  rapport  she  felt  the  hurried  heart-beat,  and 
even  the  hot  moisture  ready  to  spring  behind  the  proudly 
leveled  eyelids. 

A  big,  shining  tin  dish-pan,  hung  to  a  tree  on  the  oak- 
down,  and  rung  in  good  imitation  of  a  Japanese  gong, 
sounded  across  to  them  with  shivering  resonance,  and  they 
began,  with  some  alacrity,  to  move.  Luncheon  was  ready, 
and  the  game  was  over,  certainly. 

"  That  was  too  bad  !  "  said  Jenny  Cramhall,  coming 
down  with  the  Dawney  girls. 

"  Or  too  good,"  said  Quincy  Adams  Holiston,  who  had 
memories  of  a  snub  or  two,  when  he  had  needed  them, 
from  Peace  Polly. 

"  For  shame,  Quin  !  "  said  Sarah.  For  the  young  min 
ister  was  close  by,  with  Rose  Howick  and  the  rector's  lady. 

"What  did  I  say,  dear  Mrs.  Farron,"  besought  Mr. 
Innesley,  "  that  was  funny,  or  amiss  ?  And  why  were 
you  indignant  ?  I  thought  I  made  the  very  tritest  sort 
of  answer." 


THORNS.  81 

Peace  Polly  herself  came  up  with  the  group.  She  had 
only  lingered  to  pick  up  a  shawl  that  belonged  to  Mrs. 
Farron.  She  would  have  scorned  to  palpably  take  time. 

Her  head  was  up  with  a  kind  of  honest,  wild-rose 
dignity.  She  might  be  conscious  of  her  thorns ;  she 
might  have  to  wear  them  in  open-air  confession ;  but  she 
knew  her  own  heart-mystery  of  hidden,  waiting,  possible 
sweetness,  too. 

Her  brother  and  Serena  Wyse  were  behind ;  but  she 
took  no  refuge  with  them.  She  stepped  straight  forward 
among  the  speakers  in  that  frank-flushing  pride  that  sat 
upon  her  well. 

"  It  was  I  that  made  it  funny,  Mr.  Innesley,"  she  said, 
with  simplest  directness ;  "  but  it  was  not  amiss.  My 
name  is  Peace,  and  I  have  a  very  bad  temper." 

They  all  heard ;  she  was  quite  willing. 

Benny  Cramhall,  on  the  outside  edge  of  the  company, 
threw  up  his  hat.  "  Bully  for  you,  Pease  Porridge ! 
You  've  got  the  dead  wood  on  'em  this  time  !  "  he  ex 
claimed. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  with  quick  color  in  their 
faces,  and  there  was  a  drift  of  the  little  concourse  closer 
toward  Peace  Polly.  Quin  Holiston  snickered  feebly, 
kept  aside,  and  got  left  out. 

Peace  Polly  moved  on  quietly  alone,  without  another 
word.  But  Mr.  Innesley  hastened  beside  her. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Schott !  "  he  said.  "  You  may  have  a 
quick  temper,  possibly,  —  most  people  have  who  are  sen 
sitive  to  this  world's  misadjustments  ;  but  it  is  very  evi 
dently  not  a  bad  one  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Innesley.  You  are  very  kind."  And 
then  Peace  Polly  slightly  checked  her  steps,  and  turned, 
to  slip  her  arm  in  Miss  Serena  Wyse's,  and  so  went  down 
the  hill. 


PULPIT   BOCK. 

"  I  DON'T  know  how  you  feel  about  that  little  sister  of 
yours,  Lyman,"  said  Miss  Serena.  "  But  if  I  was  her 
brother,  I  should  be  proud  of  her." 

"  If  you  were  her  brother,  you  'd  be  a  man,"  said  Ly 
man  Schott.  "  And  a  man  would  rather  be  comfortable 
with  a  woman  than  proud  of  her.  She  's  got  good  stuff  in 
her,  I  know,  if  she  would  n't  turn  it  wrongside  out." 

"  A  woman  turns  a  good  thing  wrongside  out  some 
times  to  save  the  rubs,"  Serena  answered. 

"  If  you  can  take  her  part  like  that,  I  don't  see 
why  "  —  but  Lyman  checked  himself. 

Serena  knew  what  he  meant.  She  could  not,  there 
fore,  ask,  "  You  don't  see  what  ?  "  The  color  came,  and 
she  smiled.  "  I  'm  where  I  can  take  both  parts,"  she  said. 

Peace  Polly  had  eaten  her  luncheon,  and  had  walked 
off  toward  the  south  cliff.  It  was  quiet  and  solitary,  all  the 
way  to  Pulpit  Rock.  The  boys  had  gone  away  up  shore : 
some  of  them  to  the  bathing  places  on  the  longer  beach ; 
some  of  them  had  been  lucky  enough  to  be  by  when  fisher 
man  Doughty  came  down  to  his  boat,  and  had  got  taken 
in  with  him  for  a  trip  round  to  his  lobster  pots. 

Peace  Polly  felt  like  being  alone  a  while.  All  along 
the  way  she  took,  the  bayberry  and  brier-bushes,  with 
the  full-flowered  bindweed  and  the  rich-matted  ivies,  made 
a  screenwork  of  tangled  beauty,  behind  which  she  moved 
in  a  safe,  still  cover.  And  out  at  the  end,  she  knew  the 


PULPIT  ROCK.  83 

way,  as  well  as  the  boys,  by  the  narrow  side-ledge  path  and 
the  curious  foot-bridge  of  lodged  stones  across  the  Wolf's 
Hole  gully,  to  the  free,  lofty  .outlook  that  she  might  have 
in  full  possession,  since  only  a  young,  sure  foot  could  gain 
it,  and  she  did  not  know  of  a  Bonnyborough  girl  except 
herself  who  cared  to  take  its  mauvais  pas. 

It  happened,  however,  that  some  one  else,  with  suffi 
ciently  young  muscles  and  steady  head,  had  been  inspired 
with  the  same  thought,  and  had  just  preceded  her  so  as 
to  be  kept  well  out  of  her  sight  in  the  windings  of  the 
bushy  pathway.  At  the  descent  from  the  wild  green  of 
the  high  shrubbery  to  the  bare  ledge-side,  she  overtook 
the  Rev.  Richard  Innesley,  standing,  hat  in  hand,  the 
shifted  breeze,  coming  in  now  Salt  and  strong  from  sea 
ward,  blowing  his  hair  back  as  he  faced  the  beautiful 
grandeur  of  the  open  water,  and  his  whole  attitude  ex 
pressive  of  an  eager,  full-drawn,  satisfied  inhaling  of  de 
light. 

Peace  Polly  was  not  silly  enough  to  turn  round  and 
run ;  she  would  not  go  further,  however.  Mr.  Innesley 
would  pass  on  presently,  perhaps ;  then  she  could  retrace 
her  steps,  or  stay  here  for  a  while.  She  sat  down  where 
she  was,  upon  a  little  verge  from  which  she  must  next 
have  made  a  slight  jump  to  a  lower  terrace  of  the  irreg 
ular  rock,  and  waited. 

For  a  minute  or  two,  each  was  as  much  alone  as  if  the 
other  had  not  been  there,  for  Polly  was  partly  shielded 
by  a  jut,  behind  which  she  just  leaned  sufficiently  not  to 
see  her  neighbor,  and  Mr.  Innesley  still  faced  the  sea. 
By  the  queer  magnetism,  however,  which  a  person  under 
even  the  slightest  cognizance  is  subject  to  and  so  com 
pelled  into  response,  the  gentleman,  as  he  replaced  his 
hat  to  move  onward,  was  drawn  to  turn  partly  round  and 
look  back. 


84  BONNYBOROUGH. 

A  sea-blue  skirt  and  a  pair  of  stout  little  boots  crossed 
over  each  other  at  the  ankle  were  revealed  to  him  beyond 
the  projection,  and  at  the  very  instant  Peace  Polly's 
parasol  slipped  off  her  lap,  and  shot  gently  down  the 
causeway. 

A  short  "  ah  !  "  was  surprised  from  Peace  Polly's  lips, 
and  the  parasol  landed  at  Mr.  Innesley's  feet.  Of  course 
he  picked  it  up,  and  brought  it  to  her.  "  It  is  you  !  "  he 
said. 

"  Yes.  I  did  not  know  there  was  any  one  here  at  all," 
she  answered.  "  I  was  going  "  —  but  she  stopped  her 
self-committal  of  further  intent. 

"  Beyond  this  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Is  it  possible,  for  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  possible  ;  I  have  often  been ;  but  I  did  not 
say  —  I  mean,  I  had  not  decided,  now." 

"  If  you  would  decide,  now  you  are  here,  if  you  are 
sure  it  is  quite  safe  for  you,  you  might  pilot  me,  for  I 
was  in  doubt  of  the  best  path,  myself." 

"  There  is  only  one,"  said  Peace  Polly,  who  had  natu 
rally  risen  to  her  feet.  "  I  will  show  you,  if  you  wish." 

If  the  young  clergyman  supposed  she  was  likely  to 
make  any  small  fuss  about  it,  he  had  quite  mistaken  his 
young  lady.  He  could  see  very  well  that  he  had  uncon 
sciously  stopped  her  in  her  plan ;  he  could  guess,  also,  as 
was  perfectly  true,  that  at  this  very  moment  she  was 
ready  to  break  her  parasol  in  bits  with  vexation  for  the 
trick  it  had  played  her,  but  which  some  girls  would  have 
been  quite  capable  of  playing  for  themselves;  yet  she 
accepted  the  situation  with  that  kind  of  quietness  that 
ignores  all  crisis,  where  demur  would  at  once  have  been 
significant,  simply  saying,  as  she  moved  by  him,  "  I  had 
better  go  first,  perhaps ;  and  after  this  I  could  not  pass." 

Below  and  beyond  them,  all  along  the  south  front  of 
the  promontory,  was  a  confusion  of  heaped  and  project- 


PULPIT  ROCK.  85 

ing  masses,  among  which,  from  one  to  another,  might  be 
some  feasible  way  to  the  extremity  ;  but  that  reached, 
where  was  the  ascent  to  the  dominating  Pulpit  Rock  which 
overtopped  all  else  along  the  shore,  and  raised  its  front 
serene  far  above  the  changes  and  the  charges  of  the 
tides  ? 

Peace  Polly  led  her  companion  by  a  turn  he  had  not 
even  noticed,  where  a  bolder  jut  than  that  by  which  she 
had  been  sitting  overshaded  a  little  shelf  ending  appar 
ently  in  nothing,  but  which  when  stepped  upon  revealed 
just  breadth  enough  beyond  to  enable  them  to  round  the 
crag  quite  safely.  Then  they  found  themselves  in  a  cross 
wise  split  or  gully  of  the  cliff,  along  whose  side  ran  a 
path,  a  mere  ledge-line  in  comparison  of  the  vast  surfaces 
about  it,  yet  for  the  most  of  its  extent  fully  three  feet 
wide,  and  with  holding-place  along  the  way  by  the  rough 
nesses  and  fissures  of  the  precipice  above. 

Notwithstanding  the  rational  safety,  Mr.  Innesley  was 
conscious  of  an  inward  shiver  which  he  would  not  have 
felt  for  himself,  as  he  saw  the  light  figure  before  him 
move  securely  on  and  on,  here  and  there  dropping  easily 
to  a  lower  level,  as  the  downward  breaks  occurred  in  a 
continually  descending  trend,  at  last  pausing,  like  a  bird 
alert  for  flight,  upon  an  edge  where  there  seemed  again 
an  end  in  nothing. 

As  he  came  close,  she  faced  round  upon  him  with  a 
smile,  and  once  more  stepped  down.  The  ledge-path 
turned  here,  and  ran  back  beneath  the  upper  one  about 
half  as  far,  still  descending.  Here  it  ended,  at  the  blind 
extremity  of  the  narrow  inlet,  near  whose  wall,  but  sep 
arate  from  it  by  some  feet  of  vacancy,  hung  a  broken, 
wedged-in  mass  of  rock  between  the  two  sides  of  the 
deep  crevasse. 

At  this  strange  foot-bridge  Peace  Polly  stopped  again, 


86  BONNYBOROUGH. 

and  again  looked  round.  Mr.  Innesley  stood  still,  of  ne 
cessity,  a  little  at  her  left. 

"  Do  you  feel  afraid  ?  "  she  asked,  with  the  same  smile 
as  before,  seeing  something  in  his  face  that  seemed  to 
justify  the  slight  mischief  of  both  smile  and  question. 

"  A  little,  for  you,"  he  answered.  "  I  suppose  I  need 
not.  But  I  should  never  have  asked  you  to  show  me  the 
way,  if  I  had  thought  the  way  was  this." 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?     Listen !  " 

A  great  booming  surge  was  rushing  up  the  Wolf's  Hole  ; 
one  of  those  torrents  that  one  watches  for  at  a  wild  sea- 
gorge,  coming  at  intervals,  —  ninth-waves,  they  say,  — 
with  all  the  accumulation  of  a  grand  swell  that  began  far 
out,  and  marched  in  slowly,  royally,  stretching  to  right 
and  left  and  gathering  in  the  lesser  pulses,  never  pluming 
its  full  crest  till  just  upon  the  shore,  and  then  at  last 
tumbling  its  heap  and  roar  and  fury  full  against  some 
outmost  breakwater;  its  tremendous  volume  searching, 
forcing  a  tumultuous  way  into  cave  and  cranny,  choking 
them  full,  and  with  vast  recoil  from  everywhere  far  un 
derneath  and  out  of  sight,  bursting  and  shattering  and 
leaping  forth  again  in  fume  and  spray  at  every  outlet, 
making  the  rocks  to  shout  with  mad  reverberation,  and  to 
stand  smothered  for  the  magnificent  instant  in  the  white 
smoke  of  watery  wrath. 

The  Wolf's  Hole  was  in  the  easterly  side-face  of  the 
Pulpit  ledge  toward  Campus  Cliff,  both  promontories  bear 
ing  southward,  as  so  many  fringing  capes  along  the  shore 
do  bear  either  north  or  south,  as  if  the  great  ocean-beat 
upon  them  turned  them  this  way  or  that,  refolding  the 
shore.  Its  tortuous  upward  excavation  tunneled  the  crag 
and  opened  through  upon  the  gully  spanned  at  its  head 
by  the  Boulder  Bridge.  Beyond  the  bridge,  on  the  Pulpit 
crag  itself,  another  ascending  ledge-path  gave  access  to 
the  grand  outwork. 


PULPIT  ROCK.  87 

The  heavy  waves  at  highest  tides  which  poured  clear 
through  the  hole  met  the  uprunning  floods  in  the  gully, 
and  the  shock  of  their  encounter  sent  up  white  columns 
in  the  narrow  cleft  whose  spray  sometimes  shot  over  the 
footways,  while  the  inward  drive  of  water  penetrated  fur 
ther  or  retreated  sooner,  and  rose  to  more  or  less  of  meas 
ured  height  against  the  ledges,  according  to  the  happen 
ing  of  wind  forces  and  the  current  ruling  of  the  tides. 

The  huge  breaker  that  came  thundering  in  with  mighty 
salute  as  the  young  clergyman  and  Peace  Polly  stood 
there,  dividing  through  the  tunnel  and  around  the  crag, 
and  reuniting  in  the  chasm  to  rear  its  spouting,  vapory 
pillar  just  beyond  them,  and  fling  its  salt  fret  in  their 
faces,  poured  up  the  channel  with  a  sweep  that  touched 
the  undermost  stones  of  the  bridge  itself,  and  left  them 
dripping  as  it  receded. 

In  the  lull  that  followed,  before  another  wave  came  in, 
Mr.  Innesley  questioned  Peace  Polly  once  more. 

"  Are  you  sure  about  the  tide  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Does  it 
never  sweep  this  pass  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  That  was  an  extra  wave.  The  tide  is  be 
ginning  to  go  out." 

As  she  spoke  she  set  her  foot  upon  the  bridge,  and  was 
across  it  in  a  moment.  Mr.  Innesley  could  but  follow. 
The  climb  upon  the  other  side  was  sharper  than  the  one 
they  had  come  down,  but  the  roughened  rock  had  natural 
flags  and  steps,  and  fewer  breaks  and  pitches.  They 
were  presently  upon  a  top,  higher,  more  stupendous,  than 
any  other  up  or  down  for  miles,  broad,  sunlit,  safe,  slop 
ing  upward  slightly  toward  the  front,  ending  there  with  a 
curiously  formed  parapet,  like  a  great  horseshoe,  which 
rose  and  rounded  outward,  its  heel  ends  lowering  to  a 
level  with  the  general  surface. 

"  This  is  the  Pulpit,"  said  Peace  Polly,  as  they  reached 


88  BONNYBOROUGH. 

it,   "  though  I   think   it    ought  rather  to  be    called    the 
Chariot." 

"It  is  like  an  ancient  war-car,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  In 
nesley.  "  But  what  an  out-gaze  !  " 

He  made  a  breath  between  the  syllables  ;  "  outlook " 
was  a  feeble  word  to  denote  that  which  made  the  orbit  of 
the  eye  feel  vast,  encircling  vastness. 

"  I  will  leave  you  here,   shall  I  ?  "  said    Peace  Polly, 
quietly.       "You  will  like  to  stay  a  while." 
Mr.  Innesley  turned,  surprised. 

"  You  to  go  back  alone  !  Did  not  you  come  to  enjoy  it 
too  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  I  might  have.  But  it  did  n't  matter.  You  came  to 
be  by  yourself,  I  think." 

"  And  you,  as  well,"  he  said,  with  some  curious  amuse 
ment  in  his  voice.  "We  have  interrupted  each  other; 
had  n't  we  better  make  the  best  of  it  ?  " 

"  The  place  is  big  enough,"  answered  Peace  Polly,  with 
composure.  "  I  need  n't  bother  you,  of  course." 

Mr.  Innesley  stepped  toward  her,  down  out  of  the  Pulpit. 
"  I  hardly  know  if  you  have  forgiven  me,  Miss  Peace, 
though  you  told  me  I  was  kind,"  he  said. 
Peace  Polly  flashed  her  eyes  up  at  him. 
"  Did  you  suppose  I  was  minding  that  ?  "   she  cried. 
"  You   must   think  I   am   thorny !  "    and  with  that   she 
laughed.     People  were  so  queer  in  their  ingenious  misun 
derstandings.    "  I  had  forgotten  that  you  said  it,  I  believe," 
Peace  Polly  went  on.     "  But  I  had  not  forgotten  the  thing 
itself.     I  am  reminded  of  it  too  often.     I    have  enough 
to  do  with  that.     You  were  kind." 

"  I  might  well  be,"  returned  Mr.  Innesley,  smiling, 
"  if  Shakspeare  is  right  about  the  wondrous  working  of 
a  fellow-feeling.  I  have  a  most  impatient,  treacherous 
temper  of  my  own." 


PULPIT  ROCK.  89 

Peace  Polly  did  not  say  a  word  to  that,  at  first ;  the 
look  in  her  face  straight  into  his  spoke  for  her.  Then 
the  fresh  laugh  broke  gently  again. 

"It  would  be  a  dreadful  thing,  then,  if  we  two  should 
quarrel,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

Mr.  Innesley  met  it  with  his  own  as  frankly,  and  laughed 
as  simply  as  she.  "  There  is  no  safeguard  against  war," 
he  said,  "like  the  most  dangerous  munitions  on  both  sides." 

For  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  they  understood  each 
other. 

Peace  Polly  did  not  care  to  sound  the  sympathies 
further  ;  a  general  amity  sufficed.  She  turned  toward 
the  broad  flash  and  leap  of  waters  that  stretched  away  be 
yond  them  to  the  pale  horizon  line.  "  How  the  white- 
caps  are  tossing  up  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes ;  there  is  evidently  a  great  roll  coming  in  from 
mid-ocean,  from  some  storm  centre  whose  wave-circles 
are  just  reaching  us." 

"  It  is  so  different  from  the  morning,"  said  Peace  Polly. 
"  The  whole  sea  was  just  a  fine  little  shimmer,  then,  of 
blue  wrinkles  and  sun-sparkles  ;  now  see  how  the  peaks 
are  lifting  up  and  bursting  into  white  feathers  at  their 
tops ;  closer  and  closer,  like  plumed  heads  of  soldiers. 
It  is  like  an  army  gathering." 

"  Does  n't  look  like  retreat,  does  it,  whatever  the  almanac 
may  say  ?  Look  how  they  crowd  and  head  on,  from  as  far 
as  you  can  see." 

"  They  always  do  head  on,  though  the  whole  ocean  is 
pulled  the  other  way  underneath  them.  Hear  that  rumble 
in  the  Wolf's  Hole  ;  that  does  n't  sound  like  backing  out. 
Yet  it  is  backing,  all  the  time." 

"  Not  much,  yet.  The  high-line  over  there  gets  covered 
still,  every  two  or  three  waves.  I  don't  know  when  it 
can  have  been  slack -water.  I  wonder  if  anybody  ever 
really  catches  the  precise  minute  of  the  turn." 


90  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  I  suppose  so.  How  many  things  we  don't  know,  that 
we  always  thought  we  did,  when  we  come  to  the  point  of 
a  clear  statement !  " 

"  Are  n't  you  rather  too  near  the  edge,  Miss  Schott  ? 
The  wind  is  strong." 

"  Not  too  much  for  me  as  yet.  But  I  'm  going  away, 
Mr.  Innesley,  over  toward  the  other  side,  where  there  's  a 
lee  shelter  I  know  of.  The  Pulpit  is  nice,  too,  when  you 
sit  down  behind  it." 

"  You  mean  that  for  me,  then  ?  And  you  won't  give 
up  your  bit  of  solitude  ?  " 

"  Nor  take  away  yours,"  returned  Peace  Polly,  with 
that  frank  smile  of  hers  that  made  her  directest  speech  a 
thing  neither  discourteous  nor  a  challenge  of  contradiction. 
It  had  in  it  so  much  of  the  "  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  " 
that  no  one  would  offer  a  palpable  pretense  of  disclaimer. 
"  I  shall  not  stay  here  to  chatter,"  she  said,  and  moved  to 
go. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  won't  chatter,  in  spite  of  yourself, 
in  this  breeze  ?  It  is  not  like  the  land  wind  of  the  morn 
ing,  any  more  than  the  sea  is  like  its  sea.  The  upper  deep 
is  getting  mighty,  too." 

"  I  shall  be  below  the  break  of  it ;  and  I  have  this,  too," 
said  Peace  Polly,  slipping  from  her  arm  some  soft  tiling 
that  hung  there  by  two  armholes :  a  knitted  sleeveless 
jacket  of  wool,  dark  blue  like  her  dress.  She  drew  it  on, 
and  buttoned  it  as  she  spoke.  "  You  are  not  half  so  well 
protected,  Mr.  Innesley." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  do.  If  this  east  wind  brings  up  a  regular 
sea-turn,  we  shall  hardly  make  much  longer  stay  ;  and  out 
there  it  looks  like  it."  He  pointed  to  the  southeast,  where 
a  creeping  haze  was  showing  along  the  horizon  edge. 

"  When  you  have  had  enough,  I  shall  be  ready,"  an 
swered  Peace  Polly. 


PULPIT  ROCK.  91 

Mr.  Innesley  had  his  hand  in  an  inner  breast-pocket. 

"  May  I  show  you  something  I  have  happened  to  think 
of  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  opened  a  wallet-memorandum,  and 
took  out  a  small  folded  paper.  "  Our  words  a  few  minutes 
ago  made  me  remember  it.  I  wrote  it  down  from  memory, 
from  a  thing  I  heard  read  or  quoted,  once.  I  have  had  it 
by  me  a  long  time.  It  is  not  the  whole  extract,  but  the 
lines  of  it  that  meant  me,  and  so  stayed  by  me." 

"  Will  they  mean  me  ?  "  asked  Peace  Polly,  with  her 
quaint  unreserve  that  refused  shy  consciousness,  and  was 
her  cleverest  barricade. 

"  You  will  know,"  Mr.  Innesley  answered,  putting  it  in 
her  hand.  They  had  walked  along  together  down  and 
across  to  the  middle  of  the  cliff.  They  were  about  to  sep 
arate  here,  Mr.  Innesley  raising  his  hat,  of  habit,  at  part 
ing  with  a  lady,  though  for  such  brief  space  and  time. 
He  replaced  it  with  some  care,  for  the  sea  wind  was  ur 
gent.  At  this  moment  they  caught  sight  of  a  group  op 
posite,  on  Campus.  Two  or  three  handkerchiefs  were 
waved  quickly  at  them,  and  an  arm  was  lifted  with  a  sweep 
that  Peace  Polly  did  not  understand,  the  arm  being  that 
of  her  brother  Lyman,  not  ordinarily  demonstrative. 

"What  are  they  cheering  for?"  she  asked  her  com 
panion.  But  she  pulled  her  own  handkerchief  from  her 
little  side  pocket,  and  gave  it  a  half-toss,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Hardly  worth  while  ;  there  is  nothing  extraordinary  ;  but 
we  '11  be  civil ; "  and  Mr.  Innesley  once  more  lifted  his  hat, 
for  his  share  of  response.  Then  these  two  took  their  un 
perturbed  ways,  and  were  presently  hidden  to  the  party 
on  the  other  headland  ;  the  one  by  the  rise  of  rock  be 
hind  which  he  passed  upward  to  the  Pulpit  again,  and  the 
other  by  a  lesser,  corresponding  ridge  which  ran  from  the 
central  open  in  which  they  had  paused  down  to  a  most 
comfortable  embracing  angle  with  the  rampart  which 


92  BONNYBOROUGH. 

reared  upward  from  the  gully.  Between  these  was  the 
lee  shelter  Polly  had  spoken  of,  —  three  sides  protected, 
the  fourth  open  southwesterly  toward  the  calmest  quarter 
of  both  sky  and  sea.  Even  in  the  present  upper-firmament 
tide-sweep,  the  air  came  to  her  with  fended  force ;  she 
forgot  the  rush  of  it  upon  the  crown,  the  possible  sea-turn, 
and  the  descent  on  the  ledge-path  around  the  precipice. 

Several  things  were  surging  a  little  in  her  mind ;  the 
impulse  of  them  had  sent  her  here,  and  kept  her  quiet, 
outwardly,  while  they  tossed  and  drifted  within. 

If  Mr.  Innesley  imagined  that  she  could  be  glad  of  this 
encounter  with  him,  and  their  little  half-wild  expedition 
together,  as  some  girls  would  have  been,  —  and  would 
have  let  him  see  it  too,  fast  enough,  however  demurely 
they  might  fancy  their  silly  satisfaction  hid,  —  he  should 
only  perceive  clearly  from  her  how  utterly  the  whole 
thing  was  a  contretemps  which  she  was  merely  "  mak 
ing  the  best  of." 

And  those  girls  !  She  wished  she  did  not  know  so  well 
what  they  would  be  thinking,  seeing  her  off  here  with  their 
cynosure,  their  "  bright  particular,"  as  Dianthe  Holiston 
with  feeblest  folly  called  him  !  —  as  if  she  had  sought,  or 
wanted,  or  was  pleased,  or  would  make  the  most  of  it ! 

She  was  glad  they  had  all  seen  her  go  a  different  way 
from  him.  The  cliff  was  big  enough,  as  she  had  told  the 
man.  She  had  come  round  to  this  part  of  it  mainly  for 
that  reason,  the  likelihood  that  she  might  be  noticed  so  to 
have  taken  her  own  way. 

And  why  were  they  waving  at  her  so  senselessly  ?  Ly- 
man,  too  ;  perhaps  he  meant  disapproval,  ordering  back ! 
In  the  face  of  all  that  crowd,  with  Mr.  Innesley  to  see 
it  also,  would  he  have  dared  to  mean  or  signify  that? 
The  blood  rushed  up  into  her  temples  as  she  thought  of  it. 

She  would  act  for  herself  ;  she  would  account  to  no- 


PULPIT  ROCK.  93 

body ;  nobody  should  suppose,  or  impute,  or  spy,  or 
prognosticate.  She  had  never  liked  Mr.  Innesley;  she 
was  not  going  to  begin  to  like  him  now ;  they  should  all 
see  that.  If  she  were  thrown  on  a  desert  island  with 
him,  it  need  n't  even  make  them  neighborly  —  after  they 
got  off ! 

Her  little  clinched  fist  rapped  nervously  the  knee  it 
rested  on,  as  her  thoughts  ran  thus ;  she  felt  in  her  palm 
the  edges  and  corners  of  the  paper  she  was  crushing. 
She  opened  her  hand  and  released  it,  smoothing  it  care 
fully  ;  what  would  he  think  of  her  if  she  could  n't  handle 
a  bit  of  paper  like  a  lady  ?  She  cared  that  much,  for  her 
self,  not  for  him  in  particular. 

This  was  what  she  read,  written  in  a  strong,  positive 
hand,  that  had  yet  gentle  flows  and  turns  in  it :  — 

"  Give  me  joy,  give  me  joy,  0  my  friends  ; 

For  once  in  my  life  has  a  day 
Passed  over  my  head  and  out  of  my  sight, 

And  my  soul  has  nought  to  unsay. 
No  querulous  word  to  the  fair  little  child 

Who  drew  me  from  study  to  play  ; 
No  fretful  reply  to  the  hundred  and  one 

Who  question  me,  gravely  and  gay  ; 
No  word  to  the  beggar  I  fain  would  take  back, 

No  word  to  the  debtor  at  bay  ; 
No  angry  retorts  to  those  who  misjudge, 

And  desire  not  a  nay,  but  a  yea  : 
No  word,  though  I  know  I  remember  them  all, 

Which  I  would,  if  I  could,  e'er  unsay. 
Give  me  joy,  give  me  joy,  O  my  friends, 

For  the  patience  that  lasted  all  day  !  " 

She  drew  a  long  breath  as  she  ended  the  reading.  "  I 
must  have  them  to  keep,"  she  said,  and  searched  her 
pockets,  though  she  knew  she  had  no  bit  of  writing  mate 
rial  in  them.  A  little  rubber  pencil  hung  to  her  watch- 
chain,  however;  she  spread  her  handkerchief  upon  a 
stone,  and  wrote  the  lines  upon  it.  She  would  not  for 


94  BONNYBOROUGH. 

anything  have  asked  Mr.  Innesley  to  let  her  have  them. 
She  would  just  return  the  paper,  and  say  nothing.  Had 
he  not  virtually  given  them  to  her?  She  might  fairly 
write  them  from  memory,  if  she  pleased,  as  he  had  done ; 
but  she  preferred  the  surer,  immediate  way.  She  rolled 
the  handkerchief  small,  and  thrust  it  down  into  her 
pocket,  which  she  fastened  with  a  pin. 

After  that,  she  sat  still ;  she  forgot  place  and  circum 
stance  for  a  while,  in  a  new  wrestle  with  herself.  Had 
she  ever  lived  one  whole  day  like  that  ?  Or  if,  through 
the  quietness  of  her  surroundings,  the  word  had  not  al 
ways  been  provoked,  had  there  ever  been  heart-patience 
all  day  long?  Had  there  been  that  abundance  of  con 
tent  and  loving  -  kindness  out  of  which  she  might  have 
spoken  at  any  moment,  and  been  sure  to  speak  without 
sin  ?  Even  with  inanimate  things,  whose  total  depravity 
somebody  once  wrote  of  so  cleverly,  had  she  always 
kept  that  miserable  temper  of  hers  that  could  not  bear  a 
crossing  ?  If  her  thread  knotted  unreasonably  often,  did 
she  forbear  to  break  it  with  a  twitch  ?  If  her  scissors 
made  a  point  of  slipping  away,  and  nothing  would  do  for 
them  but  that  she  must  rise  and  scatter  work  and  other 
implements,  and  give  a  shaking  to  herself  and  every 
thing  about  her,  did  she  not  give  it  with  a  good  —  or  evil 
—  will  too  often  ?  And  what  of  the  bitter  little  spoken 
apostrophes,  sometimes,  as  if  to  a  personal  intent  that 
thwarted  her  ?  As  when  that  same  misbehaving  thread 
went  out  of  its  way,  one  day,  to  run  around  and  hold  on 
to,  with  vicious  loop,  every  button  and  corner ;  and  the 
very  ring  on  her  finger,  instead  of  meekly  following  the 
way  of  the  needle's  eye,  did  she  not  ask  it,  with  the  irony 
of  intense  affront,  if  it  had  not  better  try  to  go  and  get 
snarled  up  with  the  door-scraper  ?  And  what  was  all  this, 
in  kind,  but  the  very  being  angry  with  her  brother  with- 


PULPIT  ROCK.  95 

out  a  cause  which,  when  it  mounted  to  that  sin,  had 
brought  her  consciously  to  danger  of  the  judgment? 
Whom  verily  was  she  angry  with,  when  these  things  hap 
pened  ?  Might  it  not  be  with  Some  One  who  was  disci 
plining  her  with  little  lessons,  in  the  great  laws  He  binds 
himself  in  all  his  work  by,  and  which  we  irritably  resent 
when  our  maladroitness  fails  to  adjust  itself  to  their  wise 
and  gentle  hindrances  ? 

One  thing  suggesting  another,  she  brought  up  her  days 
and  ways  to  account  and  sentence  after  this  manner ;  one 
thing  revealing  another,  she  recognized  the  word  of  com 
mand  that  comes,  the  task  that  is  set,  in  the  daily  little 
befallings  ;  the  small  things  that  try  us  if  we  will  be  faith 
ful,  before  the  higher  things  are  sent,  over  which  we  may 
have  rule  to  our  reward ;  the  life  that  might  be,  growing 
from  each  accepted  and  obeyed  word  proceeding  from  the 
mouth  of  love.  "  A  good  man's  steps  are  ordered  by  the 
Lord,"  she  remembered  ;  and  the  tender  sentence  of  the 
divine  reproach,  "  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one 
hour  ?  " 

And  yet  she  knew  that  she  should  go  home  and  take  a 
new,  clean  day  and  spoil  it  again,  more  or  less,  to-morrow. 

"  One  might  do  it,  —  I  can  think  how  one  might  do  it. 
But  whom  have  I  to  give  me  joy  ?  Where  are  the 
'  friends,'  I  wonder  ?  " 

She  said  the  last  half  dozen  words  aloud,  starting  to 
her  feet. 

"  All  Saints,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Innesley's  voice  beside 
her. 

"  You  had  n't  any  right  to  hear  !  "  cried  Peace  Polly, 
angrily.  But  as  she  turned  upon  him  to  say  it,  he  saw 
that  her  eyes  wene  bright  with  tears. 

"  I  know  it.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  came  to  tell  you 
that  the  mist  is  rolling  in  from  sea  ;  we  ought  to  go." 


BONNYBOROUGH. 

Peace  Polly  marched  up  to  the  middle  plateau  of  the 
cliff  without  a  word  ;  then  she  turned  suddenly  and  faced 
Mr.  Innesley.  "  I  am  ashamed,"  she  said  ;  "  and  you 
were  kind." 

She  held  out  the  paper  to  him  with  the  words  ;  he 
took  it ;  it  was  the  second  time  to-day  she  had  told  him 
he  was  kind. 

The  sun-gleams  out  of  the  cloudiness  of  the  girl's  na 
ture  —  or  was  the  nature  only  a  fair,  heavenly  one,  easily 
clouded  ?  —  touched  him  keenly.  They  were  truth  itself. 
Where  truth  is,  the  love  of  which  it  is  born  cannot  be 
far  off,  or  utterly  separate. 

Peace  Polly  interested  the  young  minister  greatly.  He 
did  not  think  that  she  perplexed  him  at  all. 


XI. 

SUNSHINE    IS   SUNSHINE. 

LYMAN  SCHOTT  walked  down  into  the  Brier  Cove  with 
the  woman  he  had  twice  asked  to  be  his  wife,  and  should 
never  ask  again. 

That  point  having  come  to  be  so  definitely  settled,  — 
the  door  finally  bolted,  and  acquiesced  in  so,  —  he  found 
himself  quietly,  and  to  a  certain  extent  comfortably,  tak 
ing  out  a  new  lease  of  friendship. 

He  should  never  ask  any  other  woman  ;  that  was  a 
foregone  conclusion  in  his  steadfast,  one-purposed  mind. 
He  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  think  of  that.  But 
he  did  think  that  Serena  Wyse  would  not  be  likely  to 
marry  anybody,  since  she  would  not  marry  him.  There 
was  not  the  same  kind  of  despair  in  the  disappointment 
that  there  had  been  eleven  years  ago. 

Serena,  on  her  part,  gave  the  matter  pretty  much  the 
same  relative  consideration.  So,  tacitly,  they  agreed  that 
they  were  rather  more  to  each  other  than  before  ;  mutu 
ally  preventing  and  securing  all  hindrance  and  help  to  a 
franker  if  a  remoter  belonging. 

Was  friendship  the  remoter,  though  ?  This  was  the 
woman's  question,  —  shs  who  had  said  with  such  a  lift  in 
her  voice,  u  To  grow  old  is  to  grow  safe,  and  privileged, 
and  sure." 

Eleven  years  ago,  whatever  Serena  might  have  done  or 
reasoned,  Lyman  Schott  could  not  have  resolved  or  sub 
mitted  as  he  thought  he  was  doing  now.     Then,  notwith- 
7 


98  BONNYBOROUGPI. 

standing  his  matter-of-fact,  undemonstrative  nature,  he 
had  been  in  the  full  earnest  of  a  man's  life-purpose  and 
desire.  To  lose  then  seemed  to  lose  everything.  His 
very  singleness  and  slowness  made  the  denial  a  more  ab 
solute  and  final  thing.  He  put  it  away,  as  he  did  all  else, 
beneath  that  still,  dull  exterior,  and  went  on  with  the 
things  that  remained.  But  he  could  not  go  to  the  Wyse- 
Place  any  more.  That  old  intimacy  was  broken,  and  there 
never  came  a  time  when  it  could  begin  again,  without  sig 
nifying  less  or  more  than  was  differently  true  in  him,  from 
time  to  time,  in  the  course  of  years  that  changed  him  very 
gradually,  though  only  as  the  years  have  bounded  power 
to  change.  Alteration  is  another  and  a  deeper  thing. 

Now,  the  whole  subject  having  been  renewed,  sensibly 
and  dispassionately,  —  so,  or  equivalent  to  that,  he  reflected 
within  himself, —  and  having  been  forever  laid  aside,  there 
might  be  neither  pain  nor  mistake  in  a  neighboring  which 
he  inwardly  confessed  he  was  right  glad  to  claim  and  use 
again,  in  the  modified  and  calmer  fashion  of  his  eight-and- 
thirty  years  ;  compatibly,  too,  with  the  preoccupation  of 
practical  interest  and  industry  to  which  he  had  transferred 
that  part  of  a  man's  life-impulse  and  enjoyment  —  and  it 
is  with  years  a  growing  part  —  which  can  find  satisfaction 
in  material  concerns  and  successes.  He  had  become  more 
and  more  the  Lyman  Schott  of  the  big  lumber  business 
and  planing-mill ;  that  which  would  have  been  the  Lyman 
Schott  of  home  and  affection  was  put  in  abeyance.  Yet 
there  remained  in  him  enough  of  his  possible  self  from 
which  he  had  drifted  aside,  to  grasp  even  now  at  even  this, 
—  a  late  friendliness  that  had  been  once  refused  as  cheap, 
because  it  could  not  become  more. 

He  had  grown  satisfied  in  his  half-living ;  he  had  shut 
up  that  side  of  his  nature  as  he  did  his  house,  and  lived  in 
what  he  could.  And  however  we  may  wish  or  attempt  to 


SUNSHINE  IS  SUNSHINE.  99 

deny,  it  is  true  of  us  human  beings  that,  whether  it  be  a 
lung  or  a  lave,  there  is  a  capacity  for  adapting  ourselves 
to  what  is  left  after  a  lesion,  or  to  the  next  best ;  so  that 
the  loss  that  leaves  us  heart-broken  and  wishful  to  die, 
dropping  gradually  back  into  the  past  of  our  history,  leaves 
us  again,  more  terribly  bereft,  perhaps,  content  in  that 
which  has  become  our  life  because  it  had  to  do  so,  and  ob 
livious  of  the  pain  we  would  in  some  moments  be  thankful 
to  call  back,  only  to  prove  to  ourselves  that  it,  and  some 
thing  of  ourselves  with  it,  is  not  dead  within  us.  Whether 
dead,  or  waiting  only,  as  they  say  the  blessed  wait  in  rest 
of  Paradise,  depends  on  the  quality  and  motive  of  the  life 
we  take  up  in  its  replacement. 

Serena  Wyse  had  read  all  this  in  Lyman  Schott ;  she 
had  been  sorry  and  afraid  for  him,  seeing  him  more  and 
more  absorbed  in,  and  apparently  narrowing  to,  his  saws 
and  planes,  and  chisels  and  boards,  and  the  mere  increase 
of  the  profits  they  could  bring  him  in. 

She  would  not  have  married  him  like  this,  though  it  were 
the  last  time  of  asking,  —  the  last  time  of  any  possible 
holding  out  her  hand  to  take  a  gift  of  any  joy.  Unless  it 
were  a  true  joy,  a  true,  whole  asking  and  giving,  she  would 
have  none  of  it.  She  would  not  let  him  utterly  wrong  and 
ruin  himself  with  that  last  mistake,  of  living  upon  a  half, 
a  deteriorated,  a  superseded  affection. 

But  that  he  wanted  friendship  once  more  with  her,  this 
made  her  hopeful  for  him,  and  glad  like  a  girl,  though  she 
had  that  morning  found  the  first  white  thread  in  her  abun 
dant,  pretty  hair. 

"  Roses  are  roses,  after  all !  "  she  cried,  as  they  loitered 
down  the  blossomy  slope  together. 

"  And  sunshine  is  sunshine.  A  holiday  is  good  once  in 
a  while,  Serena." 

"  And  how   the  tide    is  coming   in !  —  or  the  waves, 


100  BONNYBOROUGH. 

rather  ;  for  it 's  past  the  full.  It  is  even  quite  boisterous 
in  the  cove.  There 's  a  great  sea  running  for  such  calm 
weather,"  Serena  answered.  It  was  answer,  though  they 
seemed  but  to  itemize  to  each  other  things  quite  distinct 
and  irrelevant  to  anything  but  the  mere  pleasantness  of 
an  outside  bit  of  the  great  world  to-day. 

li  It 's  not  high  tide  till  one,  and  there  's  a  new  moon," 
said  Lyman,  who  was  always  sure  of  the  practical  side  of 
a  thing.  "  The  wind  is  in  from  sea,  too,  now ;  the  surf 
is  splendid." 

"  Why,  Polly  thought  the  turn  was  at  twelve  and  a  quar 
ter.  She  looked  in  the  almanac,  she  said." 

Lyman  put  his  hand  in  his  inner  coat  pocket. 

"  Wrong  column,  I  guess,"  he  answered  ;  and  opened  a 
little  diary  compendium  of  all  ordinary  information.  "  Full 
sea,  morning,  —  just  changed,  you  see,  —  twelve  hours, 
fifteen  minutes  ;  that 's  just  after  midnight.  Evening,  one, 
nought." 

"  Why,  Lyman !  "  Serena  cried.  "  She  has  gone  round 
to  the  Pulpit.  I  saw  her,  all  alone,  walking  over  the  Brier 
Ridge.  And  there  she  is  now,  on  the  tip-top,  with  some 
body  else.  Where  did  she  pick  him  up  ?  The  minis 
ter  !  " 

"  Then  they  '11  both  be  caught  by  the  tide,  unless  we 
can  hurry  them  back.  It  must  be  up  the  gully  by  now. 
What's  the  child  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  She  says  it  never  swamps  the  Boulder  Bridge." 

"  Much  she  knows,"  was  all  Lyman's  answer ;  and  he 
turned  abruptly  to  retrace  his  steps  up  the  cove  and  around 
to  Campus  again.  It  was  of  no  use  to  follow  the  way  of 
the  others  ;  it  was  longer,  by  a  great  deal.  There  was  now 
not  a  minute  to  lose.  To  reach  the  height  of  Campus  Cliff 
and  signal  across  was  his  instant  intent.  Serena  Wyse, 
slight  and  spry,  turned  as  swiftly  as  he,  and  kept  on  after 
him. 


SUNSHINE  IS  SUNSHINE.  101 

They  came  into  the  midst  of  a  lively  group,  through 
which  the  two  sped,  much  like  an  engine  and  tender. 

"  What 's  up  now  ?  "  called  Quin  Holiston  ;  and  the  girls 
stopped  their  chatter  to  see.  Presently,  catching  the  point 
of  the  situation,  their  waving  handkerchiefs  at  once  dilated 
and  confused  the  telegraphy  which  the  others  were  endeav 
oring  to  make  concise  and  forcible. 

"  No  use,"  said  Lyman,  when  the  obtuse  pair  returned 
the  salute  and  moved  on  their  separate  ways  in  the  degage 
manner  already  related.  "  They  '11  have  an  hour  extra  to 
spend  there,  at  least ;  that 's  all.  And  in  a  fog,  too,  if  that 
bank  means  the  usual  thing."  With  that  he  turned  as 
quickly  as  he  had  come,  and  started  down  the  hill. 

Serena  hastened  after  him.  "  Here,  take  this,"  she  said, 
piling  a  soft  gray  shawl  into  his  arms.  "  And  this,"  pull 
ing  something  out  of  her  pocket. 

Serena  was  old  maid  enough  already  to  have  provided 
a  little  bottle  of  ginger  cordial  against  emergencies. 

Lyman  Schott  did  not  stop  to  thank  her. 

He  reached  the  midway  point  of  the  ledge-path  descend 
ing  from  the  ridge,  alongside  of  a  tumultuous,  deafening 
plunge  of  water  that  hurled  past  and  beneath  him  up  the 
little  gorge,  scrolled  itself  under  and  around  the  Boulder 
Bridge,  reared  and  rebounded  against  the  blind  end  of  the 
gully,  and  poured  back  over  the  crossing-stones  with  a  comb 
ing,  foamy  sweep. 

Lyman  Schott  sat  down  where  he  was,  with  his  back 
against  the  cliff,  and  waited.  He  picked  up  a  loose  stone, 
rolled  it  in  the  gray  shawl,  whose  ends  he  twisted  tightly 
together  into  the  folds,  making  a  close  bundle. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  fellow  ever  played  catcher  at  base  ?  " 
he  said  to  himself. 


XII. 

FOG   AXD   CHASM. 

THE  hazardous  point  of  the  descent  for  Peace  Polly  and 
Mr.  Innesley  was  the  turn  at  the  brink  and  brow  of  the 
height  at  the  westerly  corner.  Fortunately  the  path  did 
not  skirt  the  very  edge,  but  began  within  it,  and  made  its 
first  drop  into  a  comparative  rest  and  shelter  in  one  of  the 
broad,  broken  angles  of  the  cliff-side.  Here  the  pressure 
of  the  wind  —  something  to  beware  of  in  venturing  upon 
the  margin  above  —  was  suddenly,  after  a  moment's  wres 
tle  there,  escaped ;  and  the  space  gave  sufficient  opportu 
nity  for  safe  pause. 

As  they  left  the  plateau  and  moved  cautiously  down 
ward,  watching  for  advantage  of  a  lull  in  which  to  double 
the  exposed  point  and  attempt  the  first  stage  of  actual  de 
scent,  Mr.  Innesley  took  a  tight  grasp  of  Peace  Polly's 
arm  with  his  right  hand,  his  left  arm  next  her  waiting  for 
other  service. 

"  Now ! "  he  said,  as  the  slight  abatement  fell ;  and  with 
out  a  word  of  notice  or  apology  he  threw  the  strength  of 
that  left  arm  closely  around  her  shoulders,  and,  leaning 
backward  himself  against  the  push  of  the  wind,  held  her 
forcibly  in  like  manner. 

The  instant  they  had  gained  the  top  of  the  deep  step  to 
the  ledge-shelf  he  sat  down  upon  it,  bearing  her  with  him 
to  that  safer,  if  less  dignified,  position. 

"  Turn  round  and  hold  fast  by  me,"  he  said ;  and  brac 
ing  his  foot  against  a  knob  he  let  her  down,  with  a  careful 


FOG  AND   CHASM.  103 

creep,  to  the  security  of  the  lee  nook.  Directly,  he  was 
beside  her. 

Words  had  to  be  few  and  strong-voiced  against  that 
chorus  of  wind  and  water.  On  her  part  there  were 
none. 

"I  must  leave  you  here  and  reconnoitre,"  he  said. 
"  Keep  perfectly  still." 

The  command,  as  well  as  utterance,  was  strong.  Peace 
Polly  could  not  help  herself.  It  was  the  desert-island  part 
of  the  story,  now.  She  was  not  bound  to  be  a  bit  better 
acquainted  with  him  after  they  got  off.  She  comforted 
herself  inwardly  with  that. 

Mr.  Innesley  proceeded  down  the  ledge.  Half-way,  as 
Lyman  Schott  had  been  on  his  side,  he  was  stopped.  The 
roar  and  smother  of  water  came  driving  in,  towered  up 
and  burst,  and  went  slowly  weltering  down  again ;  but  it 
kept  its  barrier  level  over  the  narrow,  broken  pass.  There 
was  clearly  no  crossing  now ;  the  imperial  pageant  and 
splendor  had  the  right  of  way. 

Lyman  Schott  stood  up  opposite.  As  the  fume  and 
spray  scattered,  the  clergyman  saw  him,  but  no  shout  of 
warning,  advice,  or  explanation  was  possible.  Lyman  held 
up  his  gray  bundle  at  arms'  length.  He  gave  it  an  inter 
rogative  movement,  as  if  to  toss  it ;  Mr.  Innesley  held 
forth  his  arms  and  hands  in  answer.  The  big,  soft, 
weighted  ball  made  a  clean  parabola  across  the  chasm,  and 
was  caught  "  plumb."  Then  Mr.  Innesley  drew  forth  his 
watch  and  held  it  up,  describing  with  one  finger  an  exag 
gerated  round  of  the  dial,  and  making  with  his  hand  a 
questioning  gesture. 

Lyman  Schott  indicated  a  full,  deliberate  circle  in  like 
manner.  They  would  have  to  wait  an  hour.  Mr.  Innes 
ley  understood. 

He  went  back  to  Peace  Polly,  opened  out  the  shawl, 


104  BONNYBOROUGH. 

and  wrapped  her  in  it.  "  Your  brother  is  over  there,"  he 
told  her ;  "he  says  it  will  be  an  hour."  While  he  spoke 
the  dun  veil  of  the  mist,  a  solid  sea-fog,  came  spilling 
over  the  scarp  and  closed  them  in. 

"It  is  not  long  often,"  Mr.  Innesley  said,  when  the 
noise  of  a  boisterous  wave  had  again  just  retreated.  Shut 
close  into  the  rocky  embrasure,  they  had  the  sound  of 
their  speech  to  themselves,  concentrated  and  kept  from 
the  scatter  of  the  wind  as  in  a  bowl.  "  It  is  the  meeting 
of  the  land-breeze  with  the  sudden  current  from  the  sea," 
he  went  on  to  explain  ;  "  as  soon  as  either  prevails  we 
shall  have  clear  sunshine  again,  or  else  a  thinning  of  the 
fog  as  it  spreads  in." 

"  I  know,"  Peace  Polly  answered.  "  Don't  mind  me  ; 
I  've  been  a  goose." 

She  gathered  herself  into  the  deepest  angle  of  the  rock, 
bent  her  bonnet  lower  over  her  face,  and  set  herself  to 
counting  the  great  waves.  "  There  will  be  about  sixty  of 
them,"  she  said  ;  "  at  any  rate  we  can  find  out." 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  a  bit  more  entertaining  than 
that. 

Mr.  Innesley  asked  her  if  she  were  cold  ;  to  which 
she  replied,  "  Not  at  all.  This  rock  has  been  baked  all 
day.  It  will  hold  like  a  foot-stone  on  a  sleigh-ride." 

But  everybody  knows  what  a  sea-turn  is  on  our  Atlantic 
coast ;  how  in  ten  minutes  that  which  had  been  baked  and 
sweltering  is  chilled  with  shuddering  cold ;  and  the  heavy 
vapor,  like  an  upper  ocean,  pouring  around  and  over 
them,  swathed  them  in  its  darkening  volume,  until  even 
the  glory  of  the  close  breaker  was  dimmed  and  merged ; 
and  only  one  great,  blind  envelopment,  and  one  hollow, 
thunderous  din  complemented  each  other  in  air  and  sea, 
and  fused  the  elements  together. 

It  was  awkward,  tedious,  uncomfortable ;  but,  provided 


FOG  AND  CHASM.  105 

the  fog  should  lift,  there  was  no  inevitable  danger. 
They  were  caught  by  the  tide,  indeed ;  but  ignominiously, 
where  the  tide  could  not  possibly  reach  them.  The  path 
might  be  slippery  with  wet,  and  the  bridge  would  be  a 
bad  step,  certainly,  but  the  worst  that  was  likely  to  hap 
pen  was  that  they  might  take  cold. 

"  Lynian  has  the  worst  of  it,  waiting  over  there,  not 
knowing  how  we  «an  manage,"  said  Peace  Polly  ;  and  the 
thought  of  her  brother  patiently  biding  as  near  her  as  he 
could,  to  see  her  through  and  out  of  her  folly,  brought 
him  closer  to  her  in  reality,  across  the  fog  and  chasm, 
than  he  had  been  for  many  a  day  in  the  matter-of-course, 
apparent  nearness  at  home. 

If  the  fog  did  not  lift,  however  ?  If  a  thorough,  stay 
ing,  easterly  storm  of  days  was  beginning  ?  There  was 
this  to  think  of,  and  it  did  not  make  the  matter  that  was 
immediately  before  them  —  their  landward  passage  across 
the  gully,  down  and  up  these  narrow  ledges,  and  over  the 
wave-washed  bridge  of  stones  —  a  thing  to  felicitate 
themselves  upon. 

Peace  Polly  saw  it  all :  that  it  was  simply  a  foolish  di 
lemma,  in  the  one  view ;  in  the  other,  a  pretty  serious  risk 
to  which  she  perceived  she  had  subjected  her  companion 
and  herself ;  and  Lyman  had  it  to  worry  over  all  alone. 
She  felt  very  tender  and  sorry  about  that ;  for  the  rest,  it 
was  nothing  to  talk  or  to  complain  of.  So  she  sat  there 
absolutely  still,  wrapping  a  corner  of  the  gray  shawl 
about  her  head  and  across  her  mouth,  "to  keep  from 
swallowing  the  fog-bank  whole,"  she  said,  in  half  apology, 
as  she  so  shut  herself  up. 

Mr.  Innesley,  left,  perhaps  on  purpose,  to  a  like  quie-, 
tude,  found  himself  wondering  if  any  other  girl  in  the 
same  circumstances  would  have  behaved  precisely  so. 

After  about  five  minutes  he  ventured  a  remark. 


106  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  You  are  showing  pluck,  I  think,  Miss  Peace,"  he  said. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  answered  from  behind  the  meshes  of 
the  knitted  wool.  "  It  is  n't  very  different,  then,  from 
feeling  myself  extremely  small.  I  was  imagining  just 
then  that  we  were  in  the  Deluge." 

"  The  last  two  ?  " 

That  was  a  slight  blunder.  Peace  Polly  hurried  to  say 
something. 

"  No,  Lyman  is  over  there.  Do  you  think  there  were 
just  any  small  particular  number  of  last  ones  ;  or  only 
eight  last  ones  in  one  particular  place,  to  begin  a  partic 
ular  history  over  again  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  seriously  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  really  thought  of  it ;  I  don't  know  that  I 
mean  anything  seriously." 

"  I  think  that  what  we  chiefly  have  to  do  with  is  the 
particular  history  that  has  come  down  to  us,  and  that  we 
are  in  the  line  of.  If  there  were  any  other  last  ones  at 
that  time,  the  Lord  seems  to  have  put  them  asunder  for 
a  while  from  the  one  unbroken  story  He  was  telling  in  the 
earth." 

All  that  was  not  said  without  a  break  from  the  inter 
ruption  of  the  water  rush  ;  but  the  full  tide,  was  hushed 
a  little  by  its  own  fullness  ;  the  hungry  echoes  of  hollow 
and  channel  were  muffled  by  their  repletion.  The  sea 
hung  upon  the  turn  ;  the  mysterious  pause  was  on  it,  as 
if  it  listened  to  the  "  Thus  far."  Only  the  great  impetus 
of  its  long  Leaving  and  surging  westward  still  rolled  up 
the  breakers,  that  knew  submissively  the  time  of  their 
going  down. 

"  I  think,  too,"  said  Mr.  Innesley  again,  "  that  most 
especially  of  all  we  have  to  do  with  the  very  bit  of  the 
history  He  is  making  with  us,  and  what  it  is  saying  to  us, 
any  hour." 


FOG  AND  CHASM.       •  107 

"  Then  what  is  it  saying  to  us  this  minute  ?  "  asked 
Peace  Polly,  impulsively.  If  she  had  been  in  the  very 
least  like  those  other  girls,  she  would  never  have  put  the 
question.  If  she  had  been,  on  the  other  hand,  very  much 
like  the  most  of  them,  she  might  have  put  it  for  what 
ever  personal  leading  it  might  prove.  I  do  not  think 
Mr.  Innesley  would  have  answered  one  of  them  as  he  did 
her. 

"  It  was  saying  to  me,"  he  replied,  "  a  very  old, 
beautiful  word,  '  A  Man  shall  be  a  hiding-place  from  the 
wind,  and  a  covert  from  the  tempest.'  It  was  singing  a 
hymn  to  me,  too.  I  shall  never  join  in  '  Rock  of  Ages ' 
again  without  remembering  this  place." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Peace  Polly. 

He  supposed  —  and  she  supposed  he  would  —  that  she 
was  confessing  herself  of  her  own  lightness  of  asking.  So 
she  was  ;  but  she  was  also  remembering  her  accusation 
of  this  man's  wandering  glances  in  the  Te  Deum.  Was 
he  showing  himself  such  a  one  as  could  have  trifled  so  ? 

But  why  was  she  always  to  be  begging  pardon  of  him  ? 
It  vexed  her  ;  she  would  not  do  it  any  more.  What  could 
anything  she  had  thought  matter  to  him  ?  And  of  her, 
and  her  levity  or  otherwise,  he  might  think  as  he  liked. 

Lyman  was  out  there,  waiting  in  the  fog,  alone. 

Fret  and  tumult  —  something  like  fear  and  danger  — 
were  between  her  and  him,  separating  them.  Would  it 
always  be  so  ?  And  did  he  care  ?  Should  she  ever  get 
across  it  all,  and  would  he  be  glad  of  her  if  she  could 
come  to  him  ? 

The  deep  movement  of  this  girl's  life  was  riot  in  any 
dream  or  desire  at  present  for  a  new  thing  in  it ;  its  cen 
tre  was  her  brother ;  or  perhaps  its  centre  was  a  vacancy 
where  she  felt  her  brother  ought  to  be  ;  and  its  effort  was 
to  coincide  the  two.  And  so  its  course  was  an  ellipse, 


108  •       BONNYBOROUGH. 

eccentric  enough  ;  sometimes  near  and  sometimes  far  away 
from  its  occupied  focus.  Would  any  force  oiw  adaptation 
ever  reduce  its  wayward  curves  to  a  pure  circle  ?  With 
all  her  petulances  there  was  a  strange,  persistent  patience 
in  her  that  waited  for  that.  Should  she  not  learn  to  be 
a  true  sister,  first,  whatever  else  there  might  be  to  learn 
and  to  find  beautiful  hereafter  ?  This  was  the  bit  of  his 
tory  that  God  was  making  with  her  now.  There  was  a 
thoroughness  in  her  that  would  not  skip  a  line  unread  to 
reach  however  pleasanter  a  place  beyond. 

Mr.  Innesley's  words  had  touched  and  roused  all  this. 
There  was  not  the  beginning  of  any  little  personal  excite 
ment  that  it  should  be  this  young  clergyman  who  said 
them  to  her  alone,  and  here ;  she  would  not  have  per 
mitted  that  in  herself  for  a  moment. 

It  may  be  a  sufficiently  unusual  bit  of  human  nature 
that  I  am  telling  you  of  ;  but  it  is  not  an  impossible  one, 
nor  above  the  human,  for  it  was  Peace  Polly  Schott's. 

She  leaned  back  against  the  rock  ;  she  turned  her  head 
toward  it,  touching  cheek  and  temple  to  it  as  a  thing 
to  rest  heart  and  thought  against.  Was  this  strength  of 
God,  this  upbearing  might  of  his  that  He  has  put  into 
mere  things,  put  there  as  a  word,  a  reality?  Was  it 
his  living  might,  for  our  living  need,  that  our  bodies  might 
be  safe  in,  might  have,  this  wonderful  comfort  we  call 
"  rest  "  ?  And  was  power  so  placed  for  the  physical  de 
pendence  that  the  immaterial  might  know,  in  the  es 
sential  correspondence,  that  it  was  also  there  ;  that  un 
derneath  the  spirit  of  the  human,  just  as  actually,  are  the 
everlasting  arms  of  the  divine  ? 

She  did  not  think  it  out  metaphysically  ;  she  only  dis 
cerned  its  contingence,  tenderly,  marvelingly,  during  those 
instants  in  which  she  rested  her  face  against  the  rock, 
and  felt  her  whole  self  calm-sheltered  in  the  cleft  of  it. 


FOG  AND  CHASM.  109 

Just  for  those  moments  she  could  seem  to  gather  up 
her  whole  being  and  experience  —  that  which  had  been 
and  which  was  to  be  —  into  some  strong  keeping  and  sure 
hiding;  as  if  she  lay  in  the  very  might  of  a  thought 
that  knew  and  meant  and  included  it  all.  She  would  have 
to  go  out  of  this  place,  mind  and  body ;  scatter  herself 
again,  as  it  were,  into  detail,  probation,  failure ;  live  the 
thought  out,  point  by  point,  gaining  or  missing,  or  half 
touching,  —  not  knowing  it  in  its  wholeness  ;  but  some 
thing  revealed  to  her,  if  only  dimly  in  a  glimpse,  that  a 
whole  it  was,  and  should  be,  and  that  One  who  did  know 
held  it  in  his  hand,  in  his  intent  and  heart. 

What  Mr.  Innesley  was  thinking  at  the  same  time  I 
do  not  know ;  but  they  talked  very  little  more.  A  ques 
tion  now  and  then  as  to  her  comfort,  and  her  answer; 
a  mention  of  the  time  at  intervals,  not  restless  or  im 
patient  with  either ;  a  quiet  endurance  and  acceptance  of 
the  circumstance,  —  these  were  all  that  seemed  to  occur  to 
or  to  concern  them.  Perhaps  Peace  Polly's  silence  after 
what  he  had  said  about  the  bit  of  history  of  the  minute 
was  to  the  young  man  an  apparent  reversion  to  her  first 
resolve  "  not  to  be  in  his  way."  If  so,  he  allowed  her  to 
oblige  him  after  her  own  notion,  and  fell  in  with  it  as  he 
fell  in  with  all  the  rest. 

Very  gradually,  the  water  swept  back  and  back,  with 
every  plunge  remitting  something  of  its  grasp  and  energy ; 
a  half  hour  passed,  as  half  hours  do  in  waiting,  at  once 
slowly,  and  with  a  strange  slipping  off,  and  ending  while 
we  are  yet  saying,  How  slow  ! 

A  second  half  hour  was  gone,  yet  more  to  their  sur 
prise,  when  Mr.  Innesley  showed  his  watch  to  his  com 
panion,  and  bade  her  once  more  keep  quiet  as  she  was 
while  he  went  down  the  pathway. 

He  found  the  crossing  clear ;  the  great  rebounds  no 


110  BONNYBOROUGH. 

longer  flooded  it;  the  water  ran  beneath  the  hanging 
bridge,  and  the  inclining  footways  were  open  to  it  upon 
either  hand,  though  wet  with  the  long  wash,  and  slippery 
here  and  there  with  clinging  weeds,  and  full  of  little  un- 
drained  pools  between  the  stones. 

Lyman  Schott  stood  watching  where  he  had  stood  an 
hour  before. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Peace  Polly  was  led  down  by  Mr. 
Innesley,  who  would  go  first  and  have  his  own  way  this 
time,  and  Lyman  stood  to  meet  them  at  the  landward  end 
of  the  boulder  crossing. 

"  Give  her  your  hand  first ;  hand  her  to  me,"  he  called 
out ;  and  the  minister  passed  her  carefully  beyond  him 
on  to  the  yet  dripping  stones,  and  held  her  fast  on  his 
part  till  Lyman  could  reach  and  draw  her  to  himself  on 
the  other  brink. 

"  You  're  well  out  of  that  scrape,"  was  all  her  brother 
said  to  Peace  Polly.  But  she  knew  that  his  putting  it  so, 
instead  of  asking  her  sharply  how  she  ever  came  to  be  in 
it,  was  a  wording  that  meant  some  answer  to  her  question, 
—  Would  he  be  glad  if  she  came  back  ? 

The  fog  was  scattering  already  ;  the  way  was  free  up 
the  Brier  Cliff  side,  and  in  not  many  minutes  more  they 
were  at  the  top  again,  among  the  ivies  shiny-wet,  and  the 
roses  lifting  ruddier  heads  from  their  sea-bath. 

Down  the  wild  shrub-path  came  Serena  Wyse  to  meet 
them.  The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  make  them  all 
three  drink  of  the  ginger  cordial,  which  Lyman  had 
thrust  into  a  pocket  and  forgotten.  Then  she  kissed 
Polly,  and  told  her  that  the  fog  had  begun  to  drive  people 
off,  but  that  the  livery  van  and  Dr.  Farron's  carriage  were 
still  waiting. 

"  All  those  girls  !  "  thought  Peace  Polly ;  and  she  fell 
behind  as  they  crossed  the  pasture,  and  took  her  brother's 
arm. 


FOG  AND   CHASM.  Ill 

Serena,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  as  natural,  walked  for 
ward  with  Mr.  Innesley. 

"  Tired,  Polly  ?  "  Lyman  put  the  arm  about  his  sister 
as  he  spoke.  She  wriggled  out  of  it,  but  kept  close,  and 
slipped  her  own  within  it  again.  "  Not  like  all  that,  Ly. 
But  you  are  real  good  to  me.  I  was  such  a  goose." 

"  You  came  tolerably  near  not  ever  being  a  goose 
again,"  he  said.  "  If  you  'd  been  enough  of  one  to  have 
got  wings,  you  'd  have  been  better  off." 

"  I  was  beautifully  off,  as  it  was,  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
bothering  you  all  so,"  returned  Peace  Polly,  with  a  small 
toss,  remembering  the  real  wonderful  good  of  it,  and 
taking  refuge  in  something  of  her  old  waywardness,  to 
cover  deeper  things. 

And  at  that  little  signal  of  the  withdrawal  of  the  flag 
of  truce,  Lyman  took  up  his  tease  again. 

It  was  partly  just  out  of  his  very  gladness  and  relief  — 
though  it  did  not  so  occur  to  Polly  —  that  he  said  what 
he  did  say  next. 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  were  such  a  greedy  chicken, 
Polly.  To  grab  the  one  best  crumb,  and  run  away  with 
it  to  Pulpit  Rock  !  " 

It  did  not  tease  precisely  in  the  way  he  had  expected,  — 
if  he  expected  at  all.  She  drew  her  arm  from  his,  and 
suddenly  made  a  little  distance  between  them. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  restrained  tone, 
"  when  you  have  just  been  a  little  good  to  me,  you  should 
go  right  and  spoil  it  all !  " 

"  I  have  n't  spoiled  anything,  Polly.  You  did  run  away 
with  the  parson,  you  know.  I  was  only  thinking  of  all 
the  other  chickens." 

Still  it  was  but  a  side  graze  that  the  thrust  gave.  It 
missed  the  point  direct,  but  somehow  seemed  to  rasp 
sharply. 


112  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"I  know  very  well,  of  course,  you  don't  really  mean  a 
word  of  that"  the  girl  said,  in  the  same  slow,  hurt  way. 
"  The  thing  that  makes  me  despise  it  is  that  you  can 
care  to  pretend  you  do.  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  not 
despise,  if  you  would  let  me,  Lyman !  " 

"  Take  care  of  that  ivy  bush  !  "  Lyman  reached  out 
and  caught  her  toward  him,  away  from  the  dangerous 
wreaths  and  streamers  she  was  almost  touching.  "  There  's 
real  sting  in  that,"  he  said.  "  It 's  hard  for  a  tender  skin 
to  steer  clear  in  this  world." 

Peace  Polly  walked  behind  him.  "  I  think  it 's  hard," 
she  said,  rather  as  if  to  herself,  "  that  two  people  can't 
keep  alongside  of  each  other  for  fear  of  the  stings." 

"  They  can,"  answered  Lyman,  with  utter  good  humor, 
over  his  shoulder ;  "  it  only  depends,  I  guess,  on  which  two, 
—  and  where." 

"  It  ought  to  be  you  and  I,  right  here,  this  minute  ;  and 
at  home,  every  day.  Or  else  what  are  we  made  brother 
and  sister  for  ?  " 

To  that  Lyman  only  said  with  some  philosophy,  "  May 
be  we  should  jog  along  more  comfortably  not  to  notice 
so  exactly  about  keeping  step." 

"But  I  should  like,  Polly,"  he  resumed,  not  irrele 
vantly,  as  they  came  into  a  broader  spread  of  the  path 
way,  and  he  dropped  abreast  with  her  again,  —  "I  should 
like  to  know  how  you  managed  the  parson  !  Did  n't  you 
have  any  falling  out  in  that  hour  and  a  half,  with  him  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  two  that  he  knew  of,  and  two  or  three  more 
that  he  did  n't,"  said  Peace  Polly,  composedly. 

Lyman  laughed  relishingly.  Certainly,  he  had  this  ex 
cuse,  that  there  was  always  something  in  Pease  Porridge 
well  worth  the  stirring  up. 

Miss  Serena  turned  round  and  came  back  to  them. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Lyman,  that  we  took  a  liberty 


FOG  AND   CHASM.  113 

with  you  while  you  were  away.  Mrs.  Dawney  gave  out 
with  one  of  her  headaches,  —  I  knew  she  'd  have  it,  riding 
sideways  in  that  van,  —  and  they  were  afraid  of  the  chill 
for  her,  too.  So  by  our  urging,  Mr.  Dawney  took  your 
horse  and  buggy,  and  drove  her  home ;  and  they  left  their 
places  in  the  van  for  you  and  Polly." 

"  All  right,"  said  Lyman,  who  was  a  kind  parishioner, 
and  kept  his  equipage  habitually  almost  as  much  at  the 
minister's  service  as  at  his  own.  "  I  told  him  he  might 
have  it  to  come  down  with,  if  he  chose." 

Peace  Polly  was  not  equally  resigned.  Miss  Serena 
was  of  the  rector's  party,  with  Mr.  Innesley,  in  Dr.  Far- 
ron's  carryall ;  there  were  "  all  those  girls  "  and  their 
chatter  to  be  faced  in  the  van.  She  resolved  to  keep 
close  to  Lyman,  at  all  events.  But  Lyman  put  her  in, 
and  then  went  back  to  gather  up  somebody's  baskets,  and 
her  resolution  was  defeated.  She  was  penned  in  by  the 
laughing  rush,  so  that  she  could  not  even  get  out  again, 
as  she  tried  to  do  ;  and  in  the  merry  tumult,  before  she 
had  the  protection  of  his  presence  again,  they  assailed  her 
with  their  not  scrupulous  remarks. 

11  Well !  Peace  Polly  Schott !  you  did  steal  a  march, 
did  n'jt  you  ?  " 

"  How  came  you  to  go  off  there  with  the  minister  ?  " 
Dianthe  Holiston  asked  her  that,  with  manifest  awaiting 
of  an  answer. 

Peace  Polly  looked  up  at  her  quite  calmly.  "  I  found 
him  on  the  ledge,"  she  said.  "  He  did  n't  know  the  way, 
and  was  a  little  frightened,  so  I  helped  him  over." 

A  shout  of  laughter  pealed  around  her,  as  she  sat 
grave,  immovable. 

"  Oh,  Peace  Polly  !  do  tell  us  what  he  talked  about ! 
It  is  n't  fair  to  keep  it  all  yourself." 

This  was  Ruth  Dawney,  who  had  to  get  her  share  of 

8 


114  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Mr.  Innesley  by  hearsay,  through  being  inexorably  bound 
to  the  other  congregation  and  ministry. 

"  He  did  n't  talk.  He  wanted  to  be  let  alone.  He  said 
we  had  interrupted  each  other,  but  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  I  told  him  the  rock  was  big  enough,  and  we 
went  two  separate  ways." 

"  You  must  have  had  a  gorgeous  time  !  "  said  Sarah 
Holiston,  with  irony. 

"  I  did  ;  and  the  waves  did,"  returned  Peace  Polly, 
with  neither  smile  nor  frown. 

Then  Lyman  came  in,  and  the  van  started  with  a  great 
lurch  and  bounce  that  shook  them  all  down  into  their 
seats. 

It  was  not  much  wonder  that  Peace  Polly  had  told 
Mrs.  Farron  there  was  not  anybody  of  her  own  age. 

Rose  Howick  sat  in  the  forward  corner  of  the  van ;  she 
had  quietly  made  her  way  there  early,  before  the  rescue 
party  with  the  tide-bound  stragglers  had  come  up. 

The  great  white  daisies  hung  with  limp  heads  from  her 
bosom,  and  she  had  not  spoken  a  word. 

Nobody  believed  a  syllable  that  Peace  Polly  had  said ; 
but  neither  did  they  know  a  bit  the  more  what  to  be 
lieve. 

"  Pease  Porridge,  all  over !  "  said  Dianthe  Holiston. 
"  The  hottest  thing  there  is,  and  the  stone-coldest.  And 
both  when  you  can't  account  for  it !  " 


xm. 

SLEEP-WAKING. 

PEACE  POLLY  would  have  cut  a  finger  off,  —  at  least, 
have  tied  her  fingers  up  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief,  — 
I  think,  before  she  would  have  written  a  diary  of  her  life. 
Introspective  as  she  was,  —  yes,  because  she  was  genuinely 
introspective,  —  she  would  never  have  been  so  upon  paper. 
She  was  particular  about  her  toilet,  about  the  arrange 
ment  of  her  hair  and  collar  and  ruffles  ;  she  stood  hon 
estly  facing  the  looking-glass  till  the  last  pin  and  hairpin 
secured  the  orderly  and  fitting  result.  She  was  anxious  to 
look  well,  for  she  could  rest  in  no  imperfections,  but  this 
done,  she  would  never  have  attitudinized  before  the  mirror 
for  an  instant;  herself  being  adjusted,  she  simply  went 
away  and  was  herself.  In  like  manner,  she  would  have 
arranged  and  harmonized  her  whole  nature,  — thought,  af 
fection,  mood,  purpose,  impulse,  —  so  that  all  should  have 
been  shaped,  turned,  composed,  brought  into  a  fair,  strong 
unison  of  character,  could  she  have  done  with  it  what  she 
would,  as  with  moral  pins  and  hairpins  ;  there  should 
have  been  smoothness  and  grace  for  dishevelment,  rough 
ness,  uncertainty  ;  but  to  have  "  made  a  note  of  it  "  from 
day  to  day,  to  have  contemplated  her  own  presentment, 
or  measured  her  growth  like  that  of  a  child  that  is  pen 
ciled  from  time  to  time  against  the  wall,  would  have 
been  contemptible  to  her.  And  for  mere  happenings, 
what  were  they  to  keep  account  of  ?  They  kept  account 
of  themselves  in  what  became  of  her,  or  they  were  of  no 
significance  at  all. 


116  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Nevertheless,  in  a  certain  impersonal  way,  guarded 
from  all  obviousness  of  actual  experience,  she  had,  a  few 
times  in  her  life,  written  down  something  truly  of  such 
experience,  that  she  wanted  to  keep  ;  something  that  had 
occurred,  or  said  itself,  or  shaped  itself  to  her  in  a  way 
that  moved  her,  and  of  which  she  would  not  lose  the  first 
strong  vividness.  Now  it  was  seemingly  as  a  copy,  among 
"  extracts,"  in  a  little  book  ;  again,  it  might  appear  an 
original  effort,  but  quite  fictitious  and  imaginary.  She 
would  have  no  automanifests  biding  a  possible  discovery, 
even  by  herself,  at  a  later  and  a  wiser  day.  I  think  she 
was  more  afraid  of  that  than  of  the  finding  out  by  other 
people. 

It  came  to  pass  that  the  day  after  the  pleasure  party 
upon  Campus  she  had  something  to  write  down.  The 
great  sea  had  spoken  to  her,  the  might  of  the  rock  had 
been  a  living  thing  ;  these  had  encompassed  her  and  held 
her  close,  while  at  the  same  time  she  had  been  very  busy 
with  questions  and  self-judgments  that  made  need  for 
mighty  signs  and  answers  from  without  herself,  and  which 
the  sea  and  rock  had  only  met  with  types,  as  indeed  they 
only  were.  Outside  her  own  outer  self  were  these,  of  the 
same  mere  matter ;  what  or  Who  would  speak  from  a  like 
grandeur  and  fullness  and  suffering  to  that  of  her  which 
was  within,  behind  her  living,  that  which  was  of  the 
unseen  reality  itself,  and  which  only  an  unseen  Supreme 
could  reply  to  on  the  true  plane  ?  Something  in  her  be 
hind  the  poor  faultiness  which  was  all  she  could  put  forth 
from  depths  that  yearned  with  the  groaning  of  creation 
for  that  which  should  be,  demanded  the  intent  and  prom 
ise  that  were  behind  sea  and  breakers,  sky  and  winds, 
sun  and  scorching,  earth  and  dumb,  terrible,  unyielding 
force. 

She  did  not  analyze  or  understand  that  which  moved 


< 


SLEEP-WAKING.  117 

her ;  if  she  had,  the  dream  might  not  have  come  to  her. 
The  whole  was  in  the  region  of  the  unshaped,  and  so  it 
shaped  itself  in  that  first  might  and  wonder  which  the 
real  takes  when  it  descends  into  the  phenomenal.  For  it 
was  a  vision  which  she  had  that  night  that  she  wrote 
down  and  kept  by  her,  if  haply  at  some  great  coming  day 
it  should  interpret  itself.  It  read,  in  the  little  manuscript 
scroll  she  made  of  it,  like  a  pure  flight  of  fancy. 

A   SLEEP-WAKING. 

Out  on  a  wide,  high  moor.  A  wide,  high  sky,  blue  and 
clear,  rearing  a  huge  round  over  it,  and  sloping  down  to 
a  horizon  that  seemed  the  hemisphere  of  some  planet  a 
great  deal  vaster  than  our  earth.  Hills  and  hills,  like 
sleeping  green  waves  of  a  wonderful  ocean,  struck  to  sleep 
when  at  their  noblest  height.  Stillness,  solitude,  as  if  the 
world  itself,  whatever  it  were,  had  been  so  struck  asleep. 
Not  a  sign  of  habitation,  or  of  humanity  ;  only  a  great, 
beautiful  Place. 

Beautiful  things  growing,  trees,  shrubs,  blossoming 
grasses,  all  sweet  and  wild  and  wavy  in  the  stillness 
where  no  hand  or  foot  seemed  ever  to  have  come.  A 
smell  of  gardens,  as  if  somewhere  near  were  beds  of 
lilies  and  rose-thickets,  turfs  of  mignonette  and  violets, 
tangles  of  honeysuckle,  and  long,  sweet  rows  of  pinks, 
their  breath  meeting  the  aroma  of  ferns  and  pines  and 
clover  and  wild  thyme.  There  was  a  world  of  odor,  as 
well  as  of  sight  and  space. 

I  was  all  alone  there,  and  I  did  not  know  the  way. 
There  was  no  way,  no  where  ;  it  was  untraversed,  unoc 
cupied,  homeless ;  a  deep  of  beauty  with  no  sail  in  sight. 

There  was  life  all  about  me,  but  no  person.  I  felt  as 
if  lost  in  a  delightsome  mere  existence,  with  no  purpose 
or  outcome  to  it.  It  was  lovely  to  be  there,  but  I  was 


118  BONNYBOROUGH. 

alone ;  there  was  nothing  to  abide  for ;  I  must  go,  I  had 
the  sense  of  pilgrimage  upon  me ;  it  must  be  that  I  was 
upon  a  journey,  and  I  did  not  know  the  way. 

Suddenly,  I  was  not  alone.  A  tall,  grand,  gracious 
figure  stood  beside  me.  Whether  man  or  woman  I  did 
not  know,  it  was  so  noble-sweet,  so  mighty-gentle.  It 
towered  above  me  so,  and  so  smiled  down  upon  me. 

No  more  could  I  say  whether  the  simple-stately  dress 
it  wore  were  royal  robe  or  workday  garment.  It  seemed 
like  either,  and  like  both. 

The  feeling  upon  me  was  that  it  was  a  man  ;  the  gar 
dener,  or  carer  for  those  garden  spaces  that  I  could  not 
see,  but  that  I  thought  must  stretch  beside  these  moor 
lands  that  were  so  swept  and  filled  with  their  near  fra 
grances. 

I  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  the  way,  and  he  came 
and  walked  beside  me. 

Then  he  showed  me  something  that  he  was  holding  in 
his  hand.  It  was  like  a  flower,  but  it  was  like  a  live 
creature  also  ;  there  was  a  pulsing  motion  in  every  petal ; 
the  color  palpitated,  and  it  lifted  and  swayed  and  swung 
upon  its  stem,  as  if  with  a  kind  of  rapture  that  struggled 
to  lift  it  out  of  its  bounded  nature  ;  as  if%it  might  already 
take  wing  and  spring  away,  but  for  something  lovelier 
than  the  mere  grasp  that  kept  it  to  the  hand  that  held  it. 

The  man  began  to  teh1  me  about  it ;  but  he  was  so  high, 
so  great,  he  was  away  above  me  so,  although  beside  and 
close  to  me,  that  I  could  not  easily  either  see  or  hear.  He 
seemed  to  know  that ;  and  presently  with  very  gentle 
touch  he  put  upon  me  the  hand  nearest  me,  and  lifted 
me,  I  could  not  tell  how,  to  his  shoulder.  Not  upon  it, 
like  a  child,  but  beside,  at  shoulder  height,  where  I 
seemed  to  cling  and  rest.  It  was  as  if  he  had  simply 
gathered  another  sort  of  flower ;  and  I  knew  that  I  was 


SLEEP-WAKING.  119 

gathered  to  a  strength  and  tender  wisdom  that  it  was 
sweet  and  safe  to  rest  on,  and  that  would  surely  make  all 
right  for  me. 

My  head  lay  upon  his  neck ;  I  saw  the  flower  in  his 
hand,  below  my  eyes,  right  by  his  heart ;  and  somehow 
heart  and  eyes  seemed  to  flow  the  wonderful  life  into  it, 
as  he  looked  at  it,  and  talked  to  me,  telling  me  such  mar 
vels  of  it !  I  cannot  recollect  a  word  about  it  now,  but  it 
must  have  been  a  key,  a  text,  to  some  heavenly  knowl 
edge,  for  my  whole  spirit  received  the  life  and  gladness  as 
I  listened. 

So  we  walked,  —  I  mean  he  bore  me  by  his  side,  —  and 
he  talked.  Then  he  left  speaking  of  the  flower,  which 
instantly  quieted  its  throbbing,  swaying  motion,  and  was 
as  if  it  had  folded  itself  to  sleep  ;  and  he  told  me  of  other 
things,  a  story  of  some  human  life,  and  I  listened  as  if 
my  very  own  heart  were  in  it. 

After  a  while,  somebody  else  came  up  and  walked  be 
side  us.  This  person  also  was  half  vague  to  me  :  once  it 
seemed  Serena,  then  Lyman;  then  some  one  different 
from  either,  but  quite  as  naturally  there  ;  some  one  —  that 
was  all  I  knew  or  cared  —  who,  belonging  with  me,  was 
led  with  me  in  the  great  presence  and  companionship  that 
overbore,  while  it  gave  reality  and  joy  to  all.  Nothing 
surprised  me ;  I  did  not  question  any  longer  how  we 
were  to  get  home,  or  how  far  away  from  home  we  might 
be,  or  in  what  manner  we  had  come ;  it  was  only  as  if  all 
that  was  around  us  had  spread  forth  and  manifested  it 
self  because  of  one  actuating  verity,  and  that  mere  place 
was  nothing  and  had  never  been. 

Serena  —  I  will  say  Serena,  for  I  believed  at  first  that 
it  was  she  —  wondered,  I  thought,  to  see  me  lifted  to 
the  man's  shoulder,  but  she  did  not  ask  how  or  why  it 
was  ;  and  we  kept  on,  all  together,  in  such  great  content ! 


120  BONNYBOROUGH. 

By  and  by  we  reached  the  brow  of  a  great,  sudden 
slope,  a  hill-bank,  but  of  a  vast  breadth  and  incline,  like 
no  hill  that  I  had  known  of  or  imagined.  It  was  more 
like  the  side  of  a  green  world ;  for  there  was  no  farther 
horizon  visible  to  us  as  we  stood  there  than  the  sky 
above,  below,  and  all  around.  It  was  a  gradual,  verdant, 
mighty  precipice ;  not  sheer  descent,  a  bank  as  I  have 
said,  but  a  precipice  to  such  as  we. 

I  seemed  to  have  been  put  down  from  the  man's  shoul 
der,  and  to  be  standing  upon  my  own  feet ;  and  as  we  all 
three  looked  from  the  brink,  he  stepped  or  sprang  — 
though  his  motion  was  too  grand  for  that  word  —  over  the 
steep  edge,  and  with  gentle,  swift  descent  through  the  air 
along  the  declivity  swept  down  and  alighted  without  shock, 
as  one  might  pass  rapidly  down  an  easy  stair ;  and  he 
looked  back,  smiling,  from  the  foot. 

His  smile  seemed  to  command.     "  Follow  me,"  it  said. 

"  Oh,  we  cannot  do  that !  "  exclaimed  my  fellow-pil 
grim,  who  was  now  uncertain  to  me,  and  held  me  back,  as 
I  was  following  without  thought,  except  that  he  was  there, 
and  waited.  I  remember  a  surprise  in  me  that  it  was  a 
going  down,  and  not  a  climbing  up,  to  which  he  had  led 
us,  and  which  we  perceived  a  harder  thing  than  an  ascent 
might  be. 

Then  we  two  simple  ones  moved  along  a  little  at  one 
side  ;  and  as  we  moved,  we  found  that  the  hill  trended 
more  gently  eastward  ;  and  presently  we  were  at  a  place 
where  the  depth  did  not  look  so  terrible,  and  at  the  foot 
the  man  still  stood,  smiling,  having  companied  us  all 
along,  from  where  he  had  gone  down  the  harder  way.  So 
we  gave  ourselves  to  the  leap,  for  he  beckoned  us ;  and 
we  came  down  softly  and  safely,  and  the  grand  man  was 
beside  us  again,  and  walked  with  us,  telling  us  more  and 
more  wonderful  things,  so  that  we  listened  delighted,  as 


SLEEP-WAKING.  121 

if  we  were  being  fed  in  our  minds  and  hearts  with  deli 
cate,  satisfying  food.  But  nothing  of  all  that  he  told  us 
comes  back  to  me  now ;  only  that  beautiful  sense  of  it, 
and  the  satisfying  ;  the  words  of  it  are  the  lost  part  of  a 
dream.  I  feel,  nevertheless,  as  if  it  were  saved  away  in 
me  somewhere,  and  that  it  would  strengthen  and  comfort 
me  again  whenever  I  am  at  the  place  for  it. 

At  last  we  reached  some  end  or  edge  in  the  wide  moor 
land  way,  and  he  stopped,  and  pointed  us  to  a  path  that 
he  said  was  ours  now,  and  bade  us  good-by.  I  put  my 
arms  up  to  him  like  a  child  to  its  father,  and  he  bent 
to  me  and  I  kissed  him  on  the  face.  And  in  that  in 
stant  the  face,  and  the  look  of  it,  the  kiss  given  me  again, 
the  tender  holding  of  the  arms  about  me,  seemed  like 
those  of  a  woman ;  and  it  was  as  a  great,  glorious  woman 
that  I  saw  my  friend,  as  I  said  good-by. 

But  I  cried  out,  "  Oh,  where  could  I  find  or  hear  from 
you  again  ?  Where  do  you  live  ?  For  I  do  not  know 
the  place,  or  the  way  to  it.  Could  I  ever  send  a  letter  ?  " 
Then  there  was  given  me  what  I  think  was  a  picture, 
that  looked  beautiful  as  I  took  it  from  the  hand,  but 
which  I  hardly  stopped  to  see,  I  was  so  earnest  to  know 
of  the  Person;  and  like  all  the  rest,  it  has  faded  out 
from  me.  I  reached  the  paper  sheet  back  again,  and 
said,  "  Oh,  write  your  name  on  it,  — on  the  back  of  the 
picture,  —  as  we  give  pictures  to  each  other  on  dearly 
beautiful  days  in  the  year  !  "  for  it  seemed  to  me  like  a 
Christmas  and  an  Easter  and  a  Whitsun  time  all  to 
gether  ;  only  more  than  any  of  those  days  can  be  as  we 
keep  them  in  the  small  earth. 

The  grand,  beautiful  Person  took  the  sheet,  and  wrote 
upon  it.  I  could  see  strange,  noble  characters  formed 
upon  it  as  the  hand  moved.  They  seemed  like  an  old 
text  of  an  unknown  language  ;  and  they  grew  and  formed 


122  BONNYBOROUGH. 

until  they  themselves  made  a  picture,  all  over  the  re 
versed  side  of  the  sheet.  When  it  was  given  back  to  me, 
it  was  a  lovely  house  that  was  drawn  upon  it,  all  made  of 
language,  outlined  in  sentences,  as  the  hand  had  written 
it ;  a  fair,  most  pleasant  plan,  different  from  any  house  I 
had  ever  seen ;  and  some  reminder  said  within  me,  one 
thing  after  the  other,  as  if  drawn  through  my  memory  by 
links  :  "  The  *  house  of  life,'  —  the  «  house  of  life  ; '  '  man 
liveth  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  from  the  mouth  of 
God  ; '  l  I  will  abide  in  thy  house  ; '  '  except  the  Lord 
build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it ; '  '  we 
have  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heav 
ens.'  '  In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions  ;  I  go  to 
prepare  a  place  for  you.'  " 

Besides  the  picture,  with  its  wonderful  word-draught, 
there  was  left  in  my  hand  another  sheet,  with  some 
printed  record  on  it.  For  the  Person  was  gone,  and  I 
saw  the  grand  face  and  form  no  more. 

I  turned  to  the  friend  left  by  me ;  it  was  not  Lyman 
nor  Serena  now,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  matter ;  it  was 
some  one  representative  of  near  human  fellowship  to 
which  I  must  needs  turn  with  that  which  the  other  had 
left  with  me,  and  1  showed  the  printed  record.  I  folded 
my  house  of  life  and  hid  it  in  my  bosom ;  and  the  printed 
sheet  was  full  of  names. 

And  one  name  stood  out  in  glowing  letters  that 
throbbed  like  the  colors  of  the  living  flower ;  it  seemed 
above  all  the  rest,  but  it  was  put  in  the  midst.  It  was 
the  name  I  wanted  ;  though  I  cannot  read  it  now  in  the 
memory  of  my  dream. 

Every  name  had  a  place  written  against  it,  as  of  a 
dwelling-place  ;  but  the  Name  had  only,  in  those  shin 
ing,  living  letters,  —  THE  COUNTRY. 


XIV. 

c.  P. 

"  DORA  !  "  called  Dr.  Farron,  coming  in  the  side  hall 
way. 

"  Well !  "  answered  Mrs.  Dora,  from  the  depths  of  her 
store-closet,  which  ran  in  under  the  stairs. 

"  C.  P.  is  in  town." 

"  Well !  "  answered  Mrs.  Dora  again,  very  brightly. 
The  monosyllable  that  may  mean  query,  or  impatience, 
or  the  ironical  reverse  of  its  natural  definition,  always 
came  from  her  with  the  tone  of  its  original  intent,  —  an 
"  all  well !  "  response  to  whatever  hail.  "  We  shall  have 
him  here,  then." 

I  like  you  to  observe  Mrs.  Farron's  delicate  self-reve 
lations  in  her  small  points  of  diction.  It  was  not  "we 
must"  or  " we  will,"  have  the  guest,  but  "  we  shaU  ;  "  of 
course,  and  of  happy  opportunity.  If  she  had  not  meant 
just  that,  it  would,  instinctively,  with  her,  have  been  the 
"  will."  The  "  must "  would  be  rarely  forced  from  her. 

"  Certainly.     He  is  coming  to  dinner." 

"  And  to  stay  ?     And  where  is  Mrs.  C.  P.  ?  " 

"  In  the  "city,  shopping,  and  seamstressing,  and  shutting 
up  the  house.  Partly  packed  for  Europe,  he  says.  Sails 
in  July.  Takes  the  children  abroad  for  schools." 

"  Lovely  !  how  nice  that  will  be  —  for  them  all !  " 

"  Wine !  " 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  "  She  came  forth  with  a  tin  scoop 
in  one  hand  and  a  dish  of  sugar  in  the  other,  all  sweetness 


124  BONNYBOROUGIL 

and  innocent  inquiry,   her  eyebrows   up  in   an  infantile 
arch. 

"  Implied  that  when  some  people  were  well  off  other 
people  might  be  better  off." 

"  Oh,  Adam  !  how  quick  you  bit  the  apple !  I  never 
said  it ;  and  you  never  said  they  were  n't  all  going  !  " 

"  C.  P.  is  n't,  then.  And  whoever  bites,  you  always 
manage  to  leave  the  core  on  my  hands.  Have  we  got  a 
good  dinner  ?  " 

"  We  're  getting  it.  Only  cream  soup,  and  chops.  But 
I  can  have  a  lobster  salad." 

"  Ah !  that  will  be  nice,  —  for  you.  What  shall  we 
others  do,  simultaneously  ?  " 

"  Contemn  -  plate.  As  the  fox  did  the  grapes,  you 
know,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dora. 

The  Doctor  gazed  at  her,  and  made  a  funny  little  groan. 

"  I  never  realized  before  what  a  horrible  bad  spell  the 
poor  fellow  had  of  it,"  he  said,  slowly. 

Mrs.  Dora  in  return  lifted  up  her  soft,  wide-open  eyes 
at  him,  as  if  he  were  talking  Sanscrit ;  then  meekly  shook 
her  small  head  and  gave  it  up. 

"  I  wish  he  would  spend  his  summer  in  Bonnyborough," 
she  remarked,  with  easy  return  to  the  previous  question. 

"That  is  what  Dr.  Blithecome  wants,"  replied  the 
Doctor. 

"Oh!  wouldn't  that  be — just  exactly  right?"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  quick  delight  in  her  first  words,  and  a 
change  of  look  and  tone  as  she  paused,  and  added  the  last 
three  quietly.  "It  is  just  like  dear  Dr.  Blithecome  to 
think  of  that,"  she  said.  "  He  knows  we  could  n't  forecast 
for  ourselves.  After  all,"  she  resumed  briskly,  making 
a  snatch  at  her  mischief  again,  without  successfully  catch 
ing  it  up,  "  unless  Mrs.  C.  P.  stayed  in  Europe  —  But 
dear  me,  Sebastian  !  you  must  n't  keep  me  a  minute  longer 
from  my  snow  pudding  ! 


C.  P.  125 

She  left  him  with  that,  and  ran  away  with  her  sugar 
dish  into  the  kitchen. 

But  Sebastian  had  seen  the  sudden  watershine  in  her 
eye  put  out  the  laugh  and  the  sparkle.  When  that  hap 
pened,  —  when  she  could  no  longer  keep  her  powder  dry, 
—  there  was  never  anything  for  Mrs.  Dora  but  to  run 
away. 

There  was  lobster  salad  for  all  three,  and  the  snow 
pudding,  with  its  clear  fruit  glace,  was  delightful. 

They  were  sitting  over  their  dessert  of  big  Sharpless 
strawberries,  when  Mrs.  Dora  began  training  her  gun 
carefully  toward  her  object,  with  little  gradual  shifts  and 
slides  of  talk,  and  sightings  by  quick  glances  between  the 
same.  C.  P.  would  make,  as  she  had  said  to  the  Rev. 
Sebastian,  such  a  capital  Central  Point,  sae-pe,  for  little 
social  arrangements. 

"  If  you  take  to  it  in  Latin  !  "  the  Doctor  had  cried, 
despairingly. 

It  is  time  to  say  that  the  gentleman  in  question,  now 
occupying  the  third  side  of  the  table  at  their  strictly  home 
dinner,  was  Dr.  Fuller,  medicus  and  savant,  whom  the 
world  —  conventional  —  was  beginning  to  know,  because 
he  was  beginning  to  know,  beyond  their  commonness  into 
their  wonders,  a  few  common  little  bits  of  the  world  nat 
ural,  that  holds  to  the  naked  eye  its  middling  shows  of 
things  between  the  infinites  of  large  and  little.  Dr.  Ful 
ler  and  his  microscope  were  powers  in  the  urgent  science- 
movement  of  the  day,  that  sends  down  into  the  farthest 
secret  depths  of  minute  cause  its  artesian  tube  of  search 
and  question,  till  it  touches  and  draws  from  the  very  life- 
springs  of  matter  some  clear  drops  of  the  truth  that  is  one 
and  everlasting. 

And  it  needs  explanation,  on  our  lively  lady's  behalf, 
that  nobody  in  Bonnyborough,  or  any  other  of  his  acci- 


126  BONNYBOROUGH. 

dental  sojourns,  and  very  few  in  his  more  fixed  abiding 
places,  ever  knew  any  more  of  the  doctor's  name  than  so 
much  as  Mrs.  Dora  made  wit  of  in  her  unwittingness,  — 
the  name  under  which  his  few  but  remarkable  essays  had 
been  published,  and  which  he  signed  invariably  to  all 
private  or  business  writing,  "  C.  P.  Fuller." 

Mrs.  Farron  was  not  sure,  at  this  day,  that  her  doctor 
did  not  know  more  than  he  pretended  of  that  concerning 
which  she  pretended  persistent  curiosity ;  she  declared  he 
kept  his  friend's  initial  letters  for  Capital  Punishment  to 
her  inquisitiveness. 

"  Whatever  it  is,  it  was  his  father's  before  him,"  said 
the  Doctor ;  "  and  C.  P.  senior  was  always  C.  P.,  though 
his  name  was  great  in  his  day  on  bills  of  exchange,  and 
the  style  and  firm  of  C.  P.  Fuller  &  Co.,  as  far  as  it  went, 
was  indubitable  as  Baring  Brothers.  How  many  people 
know,  I  wonder,  the  full  baptismals  of  the  Barings  ?  or 
of  our  Harpers,  even  ?  When  you  think  of  it,  it  is  n't  so 
exceptional." 

"  Not  at  all,"  Mrs.  Dora  had  acquiesced,  indifferently. 
"  I  dare  say  he  was  christened  C.  P.  Perhaps  the  only 
place  where  it  must  have  ever  come  out  was  the  College 
Register.  Only  there,  there  was  a  '  muss  '  or  a  '  miss '  to 
it  that  would  muddle  it  comfortably  in  with  all  the  rest, 
and  never  be  noticed  any  more." 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  Doctor,  laughing ;  at  which 
moment  Mrs.  Dora  made  up  her  shrewd  mind  that  Sebas 
tian  knew  all  about  it,  and  from  exactly  that  very  source. 

"  But  it  makes  it  rather  absurd  for  Mrs.  C.  P.,  does  n't 
it  ? "  she  said,  linking  the  name  with  gentle  legato  into 
identity  with  the  title  of  the  Father  of  Waters. 

"  Then  you  have  n't  hunted  out  all  the  bacteria  and  the 
polly-poddies  and  things,  even  in  Bonnyborough  ?  You 
can  still  find  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new?"  she  asked 
of  the  naturalist,  as  they  sat  with  coffee  after  their  fruit. 


C.  P.  127 

«'  Still  find  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  My  dear  lady,  when  I 
have  exhausted  an  inch  bit  of  this  earth  anywhere,  it  will 
be  time  to  look  for  a  new  planet." 

Mrs.  Farron  gave  a  little  sigh  of  very  relieved  satisfac 
tion.  "  That  is  so  comfortable  to  be  sure  of,"  she  said. 
"  And  it  would  be  so  nice  for  us  if  you  would  only  pick 
out  your  inch  here,  and  set  seriously  about  it." 

Dr.  Fuller  smiled. 

"  I  might,"  he  said,  "  if  anybody  would  bear  the  inflic 
tion  of  my  nets  and  bottles  and  bits  of  bog  in  wash 
basins.  The  inch  of  the  world,  where  I  begin  to  pick  it 
to  pieces,  becomes  a  considerable  area  of  chaos." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Mrs.  Dora. 

"  I  am  too  fond  of  you,"  returned  the  doctor,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  You  mean  I  am  too  fond  of  my  housekeeping,"  said 
the  alert  lady.  "  And  that  is  a  reflection  upon  my  other 
virtues,  to  say  nothing  of  my  friendship." 

"  Not  that.  I  must  be  where  the  bog,  as  a  rival  or  an 
arrival,  would  not  matter.  And  I  know  it  would  matter 
here.  It  would  be  matter  totally  out  of  place.  I  must  be 
independent ;  not  bound  to  be  agreeable  or  polite,  in  re 
turn  for  an  exquisite  hospitality." 

"Why,  you  are  in  earnest.  Then  there  is  a  possibility 
that  the  fens  and  creeks  of  Bonnyborough  may  keep  you 
within  reach  of  us,  in  your  off  —  I  mean,  your  back  again 
—  hours?" 

"  Dr.  Blithecome  is  asking  about  board  for  me.  I 
would  not  go  there,  either.  The  doctor  needs  all  his  wife's 
and  daughter's  care,  and  both  are  partial  invalids." 

"  Why,  I  am  so  glad !  Not  about  the  Blithecomes, 
dear  souls !  there  is  always  one  side  of  everything  to  be 
sorry  about.  How  long  will  Mrs.  Fuller  probably  remain 
abroad?  Will  she  return  after  she  has  placed  the  boys  ?  " 


128  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  I  really  do  not  know,"  returned  Dr.  Fuller,  placidly. 

Dr.  Farron  asked  "Pan-Dora  "  for  some  more  cream. 
And  she  always  knew  that  that  meant,  gently,  "  shut  up !  " 
So  she  left  the  subject,  with  a  comical  meek  glance  across 
the  table,  and  a  crushed  little  dropping  of  the  shoulders 
that  only  Sebastian  saw ;  and  she  urged  Dr.  Fuller  to  take 
another  tiny  mug  of  coffee. 

Evidently,  there  was  more  yet  concerning  the  friendly 
scientist  that  Dr.  Farron  knew  and  did  not  mean  to  talk 
about.  And  if  he  did  not  mean,  confessional  secrets 
would  not  have  been  more  inaccessible  to  wifely  invasion, 
supposing  their  holders  ever  to  have  been  left  to  that  su 
preme  test  and  torture.  Dora  Farron  never  applied  it. 
" '  All  things  come,  in  time,  to  her  who  patiently  waits,'  " 
she  said  to  herself.  And  she  had  a  way  of  waiting  with 
the  lamp  of  her  best  and  most  wide-awake  intelligence  well 
trimmed  and  burning. 

"  Have  n't  you  got  something  lovely,  just  out  of  the  mud, 
to  show  me  ?  "  she  asked  of  Dr.  Fuller. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  Volvox  globator,"  he  replied. 

"  That  will  do.  That  sounds  velvety  and  volatile  and 
swift  and  voiceful." 

"  It  has  two  of  your  qualities  ;  but  it  is  more  like  lace 
than  velvet,  and  its  voice  is  for  Fineears  only.  Then  I 
have  a  Stephanosphcera  pluvialis" 

"  My  dear  doctor !  that  is  altogether  too  much  for  any 
one  pair  of  ears,  or  eyes  either.  Should  you  mind  my 
calling  in  a  little  assistance  ?  " 

"  I  shall  mind  nothing  but  my  microscope,  —  and  my 
object." 

Mrs.  Farron  turned  to  her  little  davenport,  as  they  left 
the  table,  and  minded  her  object ;  writing  and  twisting  ' 
three  little  notes  asking  three  people  to  tea  by  and  by,  and 
to  a  peep  into  an  inside  universe. 


C.  P.  129 

Dr.  Fuller  walked  over  to  a  long  bookcase  that  wain 
scoted  one  side  of  the  room.  Upon  its  top  were  pieces  of 
quaint  and  beautiful  china.  He  stood  examining  an  old 
Wedgwood  pitcher. 

"  I  like  this  room  of  yours  so  much,  Mrs.  Farron,"  he 
said.  "  You  mix  the  needs  of  life  so  beautifully.  I  detest 
a  room  that  is  for  nothing  but  eating ;  and  one  that  is  only 
for  leather  and  paper  and  printer's  ink  gets  cupboardy 
and  musty  in  a  hardly  less  undesirable  way." 

"That  book -shelf  sideboard  is  my  hieroglyph,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Farron.  "  I  invented  that  to  stand  for  '  en 
tertainment  here  for  man  and  beast ' !  " 

"  Choice  signs  on  both  parts,  and  choicely  fulfilled," 
said  the, doctor,  stooping  a  little  to  peer  in  among  some 
rich  old  octavos. 

"  There  's  a  pile  of  your  own  science  away  down  there 
on  the  folio  shelf,"  said  Mrs.  Farron,  coming  over.  "  In 
the  right  place,  at  the  bottom  of  things." 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  woman  for  right  places." 

"  Not  much  merit  among  inanimate  things.  If  I  could 
carry  out  my  ambitions  with  living  creatures  "  — 

"  Ah,  then  indeed !  "  quoth  the  learned  man,  as  one 
who  had  learned  that  difficulty  also. 

Two  hours  later,  the  young  deacon  walked  in.  Peace 
Polly,  in  a  fresh,  sweet  dress  of  white  mull,  and  Rose 
Howick,  carrying  the  bloom  and  grace  of  her  pretty  face 
and  head  above  cool  puffs  and  frills  of  a  pale-green  sum 
mer  tissue,  were  already  in  the  little  airy  nook  Mrs. 
Farron  called  her  drawing-room.  In  the  summer  it  was 
just  the  merest  nook-shelter  between  three  broad,  low 
veranda-balconies,  vine-hung  and  breeze-swept;  in  the 
winter,  wide-paned  windows  closing  off  cold  and  taking  in 
space  and  prettiness,  the  room  was  a  central  snuggery  be 
tween  open  fire  and  open  sunshine. 
9 


130  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Mr.  Innesley  had  been  bidden,  in  his  little  note,  to  drop 
in  and  see  something  pretty.  The  young  girls  had  been 
told  that  Mrs.  Farron  had  something  interesting  here  to 
night. 

Dr.  Fuller  was  in  the  library,  —  tea  and  dining  room 
also,  as  we  have  seen,  —  adjusting  carefully  his  plates  and 
lenses,  and  examining  critically  certain  muddy  -  looking 
little  vials  at  a  window-table,  with  his  back  to  the  door. 
The  visitors  saw  him  as  they  passed  on  to  the  drawing- 
room,  but  he  never  moved  at  the  sound  of  their  young 
voices  in  bright  greetings,  or  Mrs.  Farron's  animated  wel 
comes.  . 

"  Is  that  the  object  of  interest  ?  "  Rose  whispered,  with 
a  little  nod  toward  the  broad,  bending  shoulders. 

"That,"  Mrs.  Farron  answered  quietly  enough,  but 
with  no  special  caution  against  overhearing  by  the  in 
tensely  preoccupied  person  under  observation,  "  is  a  me 
dium  ;  the  first  of  two  media,  I  should  say,  through  which 
we  shall  be  put  in  relation,  by  and  by,  with  another  world. 
The  object  —  is  in  the  vasty  deep,  —  or  was  ;  subject  to 
his  summons  and  control.  He  is  busy  with  his  incanta 
tions  at  this  moment.  We  can  be  comfortably  common 
place  for  a  while  in  the  drawing-room.  That  is,"  she 
added,  with  a  sudden  little  tone  of  half-dismay,  glancing 
out  through  the  veranda  at  the  sound  of  a  crunching  foot 
step—  "Well!  here  is  Miss  Mallis."  There  was  the 
cadence  of  the  inevitable  in  her  closing  inflection. 

But  in  five  minutes  Miss  Mallis  had  begun  to  render 
herself  entertaining.  She  was  one  of  those  experiences 
which  we  have  a  habit  of  dreading,  on  general  principles, 
in  their  known  possibilities,  before  they  arrive  ;  but  which 
often,  when  they  have  become  facts  accomplished,  and 
turn  out  better  for  the  time  than  we  had  expected,  we  be 
gin  first  to  tolerate,  and  presently  to  enjoy.  In  this  she 


C.  P.  131 

was  not  unlike  a  steamboat  trip  or  a  summer  thunder- 
shower. 

Of  course  all  the  news  of  Bonnyborough  was  in  Miss 
Mallis's  pocket,  and  came  forth  with  the  first  easy  little 
waft  of  her  small  fan,  which  she  drew  thence  when  she 
had  sat  down. 

She  was  very  funny  in  a  description  of  a  steeple-chase 
that  had  been  gotten  up  last  year  by  a  sporting  club  in 
Broadhills,  where  some  of  the  riders  had  summer  places, 
and  that  had  swept  through  the  edge  of  Bonnyborough. 
There  was  talk,  she  said,  of  another  now. 

"  They  had  the  ground  all  carefully  surveyed  before 
hand,"  she  declared  ;  "  fences  taken  down,  or  lowered 
nicely,  to  suit  their  jumps  ;  little  flags  at  the  brook  cross 
ings  to  show  where  it  was  safe;  and  everything  made 
comfortable.  Why,  I  could  have  ridden  it  myself.  I  'm 
not  sure  they  did  n't  put  down  feather  beds  wherever  it  was 
a  little  risky  ;  and  then  they  came  in  with  such  glory  at  the 
end,  at  the  gray-church  hill,  where  the  ladies  and  the  car 
riages  were  all  waiting,  and  the  winner  got  a  pair  of  spurs ! 
I  hope  he  '11  dare  to  use  them  this  season.  I  believe 
Farmer  Rylands  cut  a  lane  through  his  silo  corn,  and  they 
kept  the  road  as  if  it  had  been  the  way  of  the  ten  com 
mandments.  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  feel  splendidly 
Anglo-Saxon  when  we  have  that  sort  of  thing  done  right 
up  to  the  notch,  here  in  the  heart  and  front  of  Yankee 
land  ?  It 's  enough  to  make  us  apologize  for  Bunker  Hill, 
and  begin  all  over  again  with  all  the  British  institutions ! 
Just  think  what  we  Ve  missed  by  taking  up  in  such  a  hurry 
with  stars  and  stripes  and  Hail  Columbia !  It 's  like  mar 
rying  before  you  know  any  better,  and  shutting  the  door 
against  all  your  future  advantages  and  contingencies." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  young  clergyman  had  come  ; 
happening  in  the  wake  of  Miss  Mallis  quite  as  if  there 


132  BONNYBOROUGH. 

were  equal  extemporaneousness  in  the  occurring  of  the 
two.  That  covered  Mrs.  Farron's  intentions  very  neatly. 
She  felt  benignant,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  Miss 
Mallis  to  stay  to  tea. 

"  They  say  poor  Dr.  Blithecome  has  had  another  of  his 
ill  turns,"  Miss  Mallis  remarked,  after  the  little  stir  of 
Mr.  Innesley's  entrance  ceased.  "  He  's  out  to-day  ;  but 
there  is  n't  a  minute's  certainty  of  him,  I  do  suppose.  Well, 
things  keep  happening ;  seems  to  me  they  never  did  keep 
happening  so  fast ;  and  —  well,  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure, 
how  Bonnyborough  is  to  get  on  without  him,  whenever  it 
does  come  to  that.  I  hope  he  has  a  good  insurance  :  he 
can't  have  laid  up  much,  they've  lived  so  generously. 
And  he  just  gave  away  half  his  practice.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  there  were  n't  fifty  families  he  ever  sent  in  a 
bill  to." 

Mrs.  Farron  wavered  in  her  secret  benignity.  Her 
friends,  she  thought,  were  not  put  through  their  most 
searching  experiences,  or  given  the  grace  of  their  highest 
righteousness,  to  keep  Miss  Mallis's  conversational  cruse 
and  barrel  full. 

"  I  suppose  his  own  bills  have  always  come  in  regularly," 
she  remarked,  bringing  the  subject  to  a  point  where  she 
could  add,  sweetly,  on  her  own  part,  "  But  we  need  n't 
meddle  where  we  cannot  make,  need  we,  Miss  Mallis  ?  " 
and  so  quenched  the  lady's  lire  on  that  side. 

u  Professor  Fuller  has  come.  And  they  do  say  the 
doctor  sent  for  him.  I  think  I  like  a  doctor  who  is  n't  a 
professor  of  anything  else,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  even  of  religion  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Farron,  still  most 
innocently. 

Miss  Mallis  laughed.  She  was  bright  enough ;  she 
appreciated  and  enjoyed  Mrs.  Farron's  little  turns  of  war. 
She  brought  up  another  battery. 

"  Did  anybody  ever  see  Mrs.  Fuller  ?  "  she  inquired 


C.  P.  133 

"  I  believe  she  is  a  myth.  She  is  always  somewhere  else. 
Now,  I  hear,  she  is  going  to  Europe.  Dr.  Fuller  went 
last  year,  alone." 

"  Partly  to  arrange  for  her,  perhaps.  She  is  to  take 
her  boys  to  Vevay." 

"  And  then  travel  with  a  party  through  Switzerland  and 
the  Tyrol,  and  spend  the  winter  in  Rome.  A  friend  of 
mine  heard  that  mentioned  in  Broadhills  by  some  one  who 
knew  about  the  other  people  who  are  going." 

"  A  long  genealogy  to  a  bit  of  news,  Miss  Mallis,"  said 
Dr.  Farron,  who  had  come  in  a  moment  before.  "  One 
hardly  ever  gets  the  two  ends,  or  sides,  at  once,  to  any 
thing  in  this  world." 

"  You  don't  of  the  world  itself,  Dr.  Farron.  Unless 
you  flatten  it  all  out  to  make  geography  of  it.  And  how 
you  are  to  get  at  two  sides  when  they  are  people,  and  keep 
themselves  hemispheres  apart !  Well,  it 's  the  usual  thing, 
—  not  congenial,  I  suppose,"  she  added,  easily,  to  Mrs. 
Farron.  "Though  I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  be 
congenial,  in  this  case,  exactly,  unless  it  was  a  pollywog. 
There  !  I  've  just  thought  what  those  two  letters  mean  ! 
Collector  —  or  Colporteur  —  of  —  Po —  " 

A  tall  handsome  figure  stood  in  the  doorway.  Miss 
Mallis  was  on  her  feet  before  she  was  aware. 

"  Come  in,  Dr.  Fuller,"  said  Mrs.  Dora.  "  Won't  you 
sit  down  again,  Miss  Mallis  ?  We  're  a  party  of  polly- 
wogs  to-night,  and  Professor  Fuller  is  to  preside." 

"  No,  indeed.  I  should  only  trouble  the  waters,"  re 
turned  Miss  Mallis,  with  great  presence  of  mind  ;  and  re 
treated  in  order,  hoping  articulately  to  herself,  as  she 
went  down  the  walk,  that  the  professor  had  heard  nothing 
more  than  the  joke  about  the  pollywogs. 

Mrs.  Farron  was  but  human.  It  was  that  little  tres 
pass  upon  her  own  domain  of  special  pleasantries  that  she 
found  it  hardest  to  forgive  at  last. 


XV. 

STEPHAN  OSPH^R^. 

DR.  FULLER  moved  gently  back  from  the  table  where 
he  had  sat  oblivious,  as  he  had  promised,  of  all  but  his 
microscope  and  his  ^object,  until  the  two,  and  the  bright 
light  upon  them  from  a  carefully  reflected  double-burner, 
were  perfectly  adjusted  to  each  other  as  he  wished. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  as  if  he  had  Paradise  to 
throw  open  to  the  Peris,  —  "  there  is  the  Volvox  !  " 

"  You  would  n't  believe  it  was  anything  that  he  could 
have  brought  home  in  this,  would  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Far- 
ron,  touching  a  little  homeopathic  vial  that  lay  now  upon 
its  side,  "  or  have  picked  up  with  this,"  showing  a  hair- 
loop  set  in  a  fibre  of  tapering  stem.  "  Would  n't  you  sup 
pose  we  were  going  to  see  at  least  the  moons  and  rings  of 
Saturn,  or  Jupiter,  the  great  Volvox  ?  Come,  Rose,  and 
look  through  the  nether  telescope." 

Rose  looked,  waited  a  moment,  and  then  gave  a  sudden 
cry.  "  Why,  it  is  a  little  live  world  !  "  she  said.  "  What 
makes  it  whirl  so  ?  " 

"  You  have  said,"  answered  the  professor.     "  Life." 

"  And  inside  there  are  more  worlds  !  One,  two,  three, 
four,  six,  beautiful  tiny  green  planets  !  " 

"  Plants,"  said  Dr.  Fuller. 

"  Then  they  are  just  alike,  when  they  begin,"  said  Rose. 
"  Mr.  Innesley,  do  come  and  see !  " 

"  Miss  Peace,  first,"  said  the  young  minister. 

But  Peace  Polly,  with  silent  expectation  widening  her 


STEPHANOSPHJER^E.  135 

eyes,  drew  back.  "  Not  yet,"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 
Then  Mr.  Innesley  put  his  eyes  to  the  instrument. 

"  Marvelous  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  there  are  hun 
dreds  of  little  green  dots  like  beads  at  the  crossings  of  a 
fine  network  that  runs  all  through,  or  over,  the  large 
crystal.  And  the  inside  planets,  as  Miss  Rose  calls  them, 
—  are  these  the  dots  grown  larger  ?  " 

"  Extremely  likely,"  answered  the  professor.  "  They 
will  develop  and  fill  up,  until  the  containing  sphere  bursts 
at  last,  and  the  new  ones  float  off  to  produce  the  same  in 
crease  in  their  turn." 

"  But  they  are  not  the  finished  plants  ?  " 

"  Hard  to  say  when  or  where  anything  is  finished. 
They  are  spore-cells,  —  life-seeds.  They  have  yet  to  seek 
their  conditions." 

Peace  Polly  quietly  moved  to  Mr.  Innesley's  vacated 
place  at  the  microscope.  She  said  to  herself,  "  Whatever 
I  see,  I  won't  exclaim.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  a  thing  to 
keep  silence  over." 

And  that  she  did ;  gazing  and  gazing,  with  awe-struck 
eyes,  into  what  looked  to  her  a  very  secret  place  of  crea 
tion,  the  first  moving  of  organic  particles  away  down  in 
the  deep  of  the  invisible  beginnings.  The  crystal  globe 
whirled  and  floated,  in  a  kind  of  remote  ecstasy  of  its  own 
unknown  and  wonderful  life  to  be.  It  seemed  to  say,  in 
every  motion,  "  I  am  begun,  I  am  begun  !  and  to  begin  is 
to  be  sure  of  becoming  !  I  shall  become  something  !  I  am 
meant  to  be  !  I  am  alive !  "  Or  it  was  —  and  her  second 
feeling  was  this  rather  —  the  far-down  inception  of  a 
Thought  that  stirred  mere  unconscious  matter  with  the  joy 
of  its  own  high  distant  purpose.  "The  Spirit  of  God 
moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters,"  she  remembered ; 
and  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  came  back  with  a  half- 
dazed  look  into  the  little  world  of  the  bright  library,  and 


136  BONNYBOROUGH. 

the  waiting  friends,  and  the  moment  of  her  own  present 
existence,  —  aeons  beyond,  was  it,  what  she  had  just 
amazedly  beheld  ? 

"  How  was  it,  Miss  Schott  ?  "  asked  the  professor,  com 
ing  to  her  presently ;  for  he  had  noticed  her  face,  and 
would  willingly  learn  what  was  in  her  mind  behind  the 
look. 

" I  don't  know,"  she  answered  ;  "I  have  hardly  got 
back  here,  yet,  —  from  that.  I  think  it  is  the  way  it  was 
in  Genesis."  And  then  she  smiled,  not  meaning  certainly 
to  say  any  more  to  this  strange  wise  man. 

"  A  genesis  continually  going  on,"  he  said  ;  so  that 
she  did  not  know  from  his  word  how  he  might  even  re 
gard  the  Bible  Genesis.  Perhaps  she  was  hardly  con 
scious  of  the  inquiry  her  eyes  sent  to  his  in  her  silence. 

"  It  seemed  to  you  '  the  way  it  was  ; '  what  way  ?  "  he 
urged  her.  And  somehow  she  could  not  help  but  answer. 

"When  God  had  the  first  thought  of  it,"  she  said, 
simply  ;  "  when  He  made  every  plant  and  herb  before  they 
grew." 

Dr.  Fuller  was  silent  an  instant,  still  looking  at  her. 
Then  he  said,  merely,  "  I  have  something  else  to  show 
you,"  and  went  back  to  his  table,  which  Mrs.  Farron  and 
the  Doctor  were  just  leaving. 

"  Come  away,"  said  Mrs.  Dora  ;  "  he  '11  be  busy  ever  so 
long,  as  likely  as  not,  catching  and  fixing  another  piece  of 
chaos."  , 

Rose  Howick  and  Mr.  Innesley  moved  after  her,  and 
they  were  presently  chatting  all  together  upon  the  ve 
randa.  Peace  Polly  slipped  into  the  nearest  seat  and 
waited. 

It  was  not  what  Mrs.  Farron  had  meant,  but  she  could 
not  help  it  now ;  and  before  she  could  plausibly  accom 
plish  any  change  they  were  all  called  back  again. 


STBPHANOSPHJERJE.  137 

"  I  have  been  particularly  fortunate,"  said  Dr.  Fuller. 
"  Caught  it  in  the  first  drop." 

"  What  is  it  this  time  ?  " 

"  Stephanosphcera.  Come,  Miss  Schott,  it  is  your  turn 
first." 

Peace  Polly  went  to  the  table  and  seated  herself  in  the 
chair  Dr.  Fuller  rose  from  and  offered  her.  She  leaned 
forward,  put  her  eyes  to  the  lens-tubes,  and  saw  again,  as 
she  thought,  "  way  down  into  creation." 

A  clear,  floating  globe,  trembling,  whirling  in  a  watery 
space.  Translucent,  beautiful ;  a  little  germ  -  world  ;  a 
mere  invisible  atom,  she  knew,  to  the  naked  eye.  Alive, 
with  the  throbbing  life  of  all  worlds  ;  one  of  myriad  myr 
iads,  unknown  except  by  this  marvelous  revelation ;  ten 
der  and  frail  as  an  air-bubble,  —  perfect  and  firm  as  a  sil 
ver  planet  in  a  summer  sky  ;  the  same  Force  forming  and 
holding  both.  Within  its  glassy  circumference  other 
smaller  globes  also  floating,  whirling,  instinct  with  the  be 
ginning  of  being ;  these  »of  a  fair,  vivid  green,  with  little 
nerve-fibres  stretching  forth  delicate  lines,  two  to  every 
one,  and  grasping,  as  for  anchorage,  the  inner  surface  of 
the  pellucid  shell.  How  could  such  beauty,  such  pure 
transparency,  such  tender  color,  come  of  mere  seeming 
scum  or  slime  or  weedy  film  clouding  clear  water  ? 

Suddenly  —  what  was  that  ?  Peace  Polly  started,  al 
most  to  the  disarranging  of  the  instrument. 

"It  has  burst  through,"  she  cried,  "one  of  the  little 
green  things,  — and  gone  away  !  " 

"  I  wondered  if  that  might  happen  for  you,"  said  the 
professor.  "  I  was  watching  for  it.  That  was  a  spore- 
birth  ;  the  escape  of  a  seed  -  vessel,  as  from  a  fruited 
flower." 

Peace  Polly  turned  round  and  looked  at  him  ;  her  face 
had  become  pale  with  strange  excitement.  Something 


138  BONNYBOROUGH. 

stirred  her  memory  with  a  quick  thrill  of  recognition ;  she 
had  seen,  or  dreamed,  something  like  that  before.  A 
live,  breathing,  spirit -moved  flower.  In  that  instant, 
her  vision,  that  after-sleep  had  obliterated,  came  back  to 
her  for  the  first  time,  as  if  she  had  but  just  awaked  from 
it,  and  began  to  unroll  its  sweet  recorded  impressions,  to 
recall  its  presence  ;  began  to  be  lovely  and  warm  again 
at  her  heart.  But  no  one  knew,  or  could  guess.  She 
hid  away  her  treasure  instantly,  like  something  given  se 
cretly  into  her  hold,  to  be  all  unfolded  at  some  other 
time  ;  she  spoke  to-  Dr.  Fuller  about  what  he  had  been 
showing  her. 

"Is  the  world  all  like  that?"  she  asked,  "all  full  of 
great  spaces  where  there  seems  nothing,  and  powers  like 
the  powers  of  heaven  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  low  and  distant  like  the  voice  of  a  sleep 
walker.  Only  Dr.  Fuller  heard  the  words.  The  others 
were  talking  of  something  else  while  they  waited. 

"  There  is  power  like  that  in  all  the  earth,"  he  answered, 
almost  as  low,  u  down  to  the  universes  of  the  molecules, 
in  which  the  atoms  are  like  constellations,  and  every  atom, 
may  be,  in  some  way  as  a  world." 

Peace  Polly  moved  away  to  let  Rose  Howick  see ;  and 
the  wonder  and  the  wondering  went  on.  One  after  an 
other  the  new  little  cells  escaped  through  the  clear  cir 
cumference  of  their  crystal  envelope,  and  rushed  away 
out  of  the  field  of  the  glass. 

Each  observer  made  in  turn  some  characteristic  re 
mark. 

"It  is  exquisite  ! "  said  Mr.  Innesley,  "  and  all  this 
is  only  —  a  protophyte  !  A  long  way  up  from  that  to  the 
'  Rose  Enthroned,'  Miss  Howick,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile. 

The  girl  was  a  little  embarrassed,  not  understanding 


STEPHANOSPHJ2RJ2.  139 

his  allusion,  or  how  far  up  in  creation  he  meant  to  reach 
his  measure  of  comparison. 

"  You  know  Miss  Larcom's  lovely  poem  ?  "  he  made  a 
little  haste  to  say,  interrogatively ;  for  Richard  Innesley 
was  always  and  quite  a  gentleman. 

"  No ;  Vhat  is  the  '  Rose  Enthroned,'  if  you  please  ?  " 
she  asked  him,  recovering  her  poise  and  color. 

He  repeated  quietly,  but  with  real  feeling  of  their  in 
spiration,  the  lines :  — 

"  And  life  works  through  the  growing  quietness, 

To  bring  some  darling  mj'stery  into  form ; 
Beauty  her  fairest  Possible  would  dress 
In  colors  pure  and  warm. 

•    "  Within  the  depths  of  palpitating  seas 

A  tender  tint  —  anon  a  line  of  grace, 
Some  lovely  thought  from  its  dull  atom  frees, 
The  coming  joy  to  trace ;  — 

"  At  last  a  morning  comes  of  sunshine  still, 

When  not  a  dewdrop  trembles  on  the  grass, 
When  all  winds  sleep,  and  every  pool  and  rill 
Is  like  a  burnished  glass 

"  Where  a  long-looked-for  guest  might  lean  to  gaze; 

When  Day  on  Earth  rests  royally,  —  a  crown 
Of  molten  glory,  flashing  diamond  rays, 
From  heaven  let  lightly  down. 

"In  golden  silence,  breathless  all  things  stand; 
What  answer  waits  this  questioning  repose  ? 
A  sudden  gush  of  light  and  odors  bland, 
And  lo,  —  the  Rose !  the  Rose !  " 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Rose  Ho  wick  softly.  "  Is  n't 
there  any  more  of  it  ?  "  It  was  very  sweet,  her  quite  for- 
getfulness  of  her  own  flower-name.  Mr.  Innesley  went 
on,  smiling  upon  her  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  What  fiery  fields  of  Chaos  must  be  won, 

What  battling  Titans  rear  themselves  a  tomb, 
What  births  and  resurrections  greet  the  sun, 
Before  the  Rose  can  bloom !  " 


140  BONNYBOROUGH. 

If  he  had  not  meant  subtile  flattery  before,  it  was  hard 
to  miss  the  honest,  admiring  application  now,  as  the  rose- 
like  face  looked  up  to  him,  listening.  But  he  finished 
gravely,  after  that  instant's  pause,  what  took  the  thought, 
even  so  prompted,  far  on  beyond  the  little  compliment  or 
suggestion  of  a  moment :  — 

"  And  of  some  wonder  blossom  yet  we  dream 
Whereof  the  time  that  is  infolds  the  seed. 
Some  flower  of  light,  to  which  the  Rose  shall  seem 
A  fair  and  fragile  weed." 

Mrs.  Farron  had  been  very  quiet  at  her  watch  of  the 
water-marvel.  The  gentle  sound  of  Mr.  Innesley's  re 
cital  was  all  that  broke  upon  the  stillness  that  covered, 
surely,  many  thoughts  in  the  different  minds.  If  we  could 
see  a  moment,  and  the  human  souls  standing  in  it,  as  we 
see  a  water-drop  in  a  microscope ! 

But  an  instant  after  the  verses  were  ended,  Mrs.  Dora's 
sprightliest  voice  set  talk  to  a  sudden  new  key. 

"  And  what  becomes  of  them,  after  all,  professor  ?  Arc 
they  ever  anything  more  than  '  stuff-in-a-sphere '  ?  "  she 
asked. 

A  quick  chorus  of  amused  laughter  broke  up,  as  she  had 
intended,  the  solemnity.  "  Who  can  say  ?  "  answered  the 
professor.  "  They  go  to  their  place,  and  that  becomes  of 
them  which  they  are  making  for.  They  are  on  their  way, 
doubtless,  to  the  Rose,  or  the  day  of  it." 

"  And  what  are  they  all,  —  this  whole  tribe  of  protos  ? 
For  I  always  like  to  know  family  names  and  connections 
when  I  make  acquaintance." 

"  These  are  Algcv,  Mrs.  Farron ;  low  forms  of  plant  life, 
though  not,  strictly  speaking,  protophytes,  since  there  is  a 
long  step  between  these  and  the  very  lowest  that  we  know. 
There  are,  indeed,  infinitely  more  varieties  below  visibil 
ity  than  are  developed  above  into  what  we  call  the  vegeta- 


STEPHANOSPHMR&.  141 

ble  creation.  There  is  kingdom  beside  kingdom ;  way 
down  below  all,  the  innumerable  host  of  the  bacteria." 

"  There  !  I  told  them  so.  I  said  it  was  another  world, 
but  that  precisely  defines  which.  What  a  good  thing  a 
composite  language  is  !  We  had  '  exterior '  and  *  interior,' 
and  '  anterior '  and  '  posterior,'  and  '  superior '  and  l  infe 
rior,'  and  now  we  have  'backterior '  for  this  world  behind 
all.  Nothing  else  would  have  described  it." 

Afterward,  Dr.  Farron  asked  his  wife  if  she  had  not 
been  "  just  a  little  too  "  — 

"  Frivolous  ?  "  suggested  Dora. 

«  Well,  —  for  the  subject  ?  " 

"My  dear  Sebastian,"  she  said,  "in  the  face  of  such 
things  the  scientifically  ignorant  must  either  talk  top-froth 
or  the  depths.  I  saw  that  girl's  face,  —  Polly's,  —  and  I 
knew  that  I  must  keep  a  buoy  afloat,  if  it  were  only  a  pun, 
or  she  never  would  come  up  again.  How  tremendously  she 
takes  everything !  " 

"  And  how  tremendous  everything  is ! "  returned  the 
Doctor. 

"  That 's  where  the  frivolous  mission  comes  in.  There 
has  to  be  a  bob  wherever  there  's  a  sinker.  Did  you  hear 
what  she  said  in  the  first  place  about  thoughts  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  was  a  fresh  putting  of  the  Psalm -words, 
'  How  wonderful  are  thy  thoughts  unto  me,  O  God !  How 
great  is  the  sum  of  them  ! ' ' 

"  She  is  a  strange  girl.  Have  you  ever  spoken  to  her 
about  confirmation  ?  " 

"  No.  Perhaps  some  day  she  may  come  to  me.  There 
are  spiritual  processes  I  do  not  dare  to  meddle  with.  You 
would  not  have  me  try  to  hurry  one  of  those  little  life- 
globes  out  of  its  firmament  ?  " 

"No.  It  is  too  beautiful  to  watch  it  just  where  it 
is." 


142  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"And  it  is  sure  of  its  own  time,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  Life  may  be  let  alone.  It  is  dying  we  have  to  struggle 
with." 

"  But  if  she  only  knew  !  I  think  sometimes  her  *  envi 
ronment  '  looks  so  stagnant  to  her  that  she  does  not  dis 
cern  what  life  is  working  in  it.  She  might  take  more 
courage  if  her  own  self  could  be  shown  to  her  a  little." 

"  She  is  under  God's  microscope,"  said  Dr.  Farron. 


XVI. 

BLIND    ROSES. 

PEACE  POLLY  sat  in  the  pleasant  open  hall  by  the  hill 
side  door.  She  was  trying  to  paint  wild  roses.  She  had 
made  sketch  after  sketch  of  flowers  in  different  degrees  of 
openness,  different  attitudes  of  bright  heads,  —  up-looking, 
down -looking,  straight  -  facing,  turned  shyly  half  aside. 
There  were  as  many  moods  and  expressions  of  them  as  of 
so  many  human  creatures.  One  or  two  she  had  tinted  care 
fully,  and  brought  to  a  certain  finish ;  but  with  the  last 
precise  lines  and  shades  they  had  been,  to  her  thinking, 
finished  utterly  as  to  any  success.  The  idea  was  so  elu 
sive.  It  hinted  itself  well  in  first  outlines,  then  it  got  ob 
literated  in  detail.  She  had  thrown  them  all  aside,  one 
after  another,  in  all  stages  of  their  progress  and  of  her 
discouragement.  They  were  pushed  together  upon  her 
little  table,  sheet  upon  sheet ;  a  pile  of  pretty  refuse,  from 
which  peeped  here  and  there  broken  suggestions  of  beau 
tiful  things  that  it  certainly  seemed  possible  to  pick  out 
and  save. 

She  was  in  despair,  at  last,  over  what  she  called  a 
"  blind  rose."  In  the  others,  the  mere  dotting  in  of  the 
little  golden-raying  stamens  gave  character  and  resem 
blance  of  itself.  This,  she  said  to  herself,  looked  "  like  an 
old,  wilted  penwiper."  The  upper  petals  in  the  original 
were  so  dropped  forward  over  the  yellow  centre,  as  the 
flower  leaned  from  the  water-glass,  that  the  sign  was  hid 
den  which  should  have  said,  "This  is  a  Rose."  She 


144  BONNYBOROUGH. 

wanted  to  have  drawn  it  so  that  it  should  not  have  needed 
a  sign,  and  she  had  found  it  impossible.  What  had  such 
a  sweet,  peculiar  grace  in  the  real  bloom  was  confusion 
and  effacement  in  the  copy. 

Lyman  came  in  at  the  open  door,  and  stopped  beside 
her  to  see  what  she  was  doing.  He  turned  over  the  stray, 
unfinished  sheets.  "  What  are  all  these  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Blights,  or  worm-nips  ?  " 

"  Things  that  never  were,"  Peace  Polly  answered. 
"  Failures." 

"  All  spoiled  ?  "  he  asked,  kindly  enough.  "  May  be 
they  would  n't  be,  if  you  only  kept  on.  There  's  a  bad 
time  with  almost  everything ;  you  have  to  worry  past  it, 
and  then,  likely  as  not,  you  come  out  right.  Why  not  fin 
ish  somehow,  and  bring  out  as  right  as  you  can  ?  They  're 
all  roses,  I  can  see  that ;  so  there  must  be  something  of  a 
rose  in  every  one.  I  'd  work  'em  up." 

"  No,  you  would  n't,"  answered  Polly,  gloomily. 

"  You  don't  know.  I  'm  not  apt  to  leave  thirgs.  My 
mother's  rule  was  never  to  begin  and  not  finish.  It  would 
be  a  good  plan  for  you  to  go  by,  I  think." 

"  Why  do  you  always  skip  over  my  mother  ?  I  can't 
be  expected  to  take  after  yours,"  retorted  Peace  Polly. 

"  And  why  should  she  or  you  be  so  much  patienter  than 
God  ?  "  she  said  again,  turning  upon  him  suddenly,  after 
the  pause  in  which  Lyman  had  replied  nothing. 

"Patienter  than  God!"  Lyman  repeated,  slowly,  with 
amazed  emphasis.  "  What  makes  you  dare  to  say  that, 
Peace  Polly  ?  " 

"  Is  n't  that  what  you  believe  He  does  with  us  ?  Does  n't 
He  spoil  ever  so  many  of  us  and  throw  us  away,  to  one 
that  He  finishes  and  makes  all  right  ?  " 

Lyman  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  bolt  of  doctrine 
hurled  square  in  his  face.  There  was  something  wrong 


BLIND  ROSES.  145 

about  it,  he  knew ;  with  just  about  as  much  reminder  of 
orthodoxy  as  of  rose-likeness  in  the  failed  roses.  He 
could  not  deny  it  a  certain  recognition,  and  he  could  not 
risk  repudiation  of  anything  that  might  be  fairly  deduci- 
ble  from  the  Westminster  Catechism.  The  thing  had 
never  been  put  to  him  in  that  shape  before. 

Perhaps  that  was  why  a  certain  light  fell  upon  it  that 
he  had  never  looked  for  before. 

For  he  answered  Polly  presently,  after  a  'slow  thought 
of  a  minute,  during  which  she  sat  with  her  elbows  upon 
the  table  and  her  forehead  leaned  upon  her  fingers  locked 
across  it,  looking  down  upon  her  blind  rose  :  — 

"  We  've  got  a  will  and  a  hand  in  that  matter  ourselves, 
Polly.  We  have  the  choosing  and  the  keeping  on.  If 
we  've  a  mind  to  be  saved  He  11  begin  with  us ;  and  He 
won't  be  done  with  us  until  we  're  done  with  Him.  That 's 
what  we  're  human  souls  for,  and  not "  — 

"  Plant-spores !  "  Polly  ended  for  him,  eagerly,  clutching 
at  the  new  thought  which  instantly  completed  and  illus 
trated  itself  to  her.  And  then  the  girl's  fingers  relaxed, 
and  her  face  was  lifted  from  them.  She  turned  round 
and  looked  up  at  her  brother. 

"  Why,  that 's  the  best  thing  you  ever  said  to  me !  "  she 
told  him. 

Doubtless  Lyman  began  to  fear  he  had  compromised 
dangerously. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  slowly;  "I  dare  say  I've  left 
out  something."  So  he  had.  He  had  skipped  all  the 
Everlasting  Decrees  without  thinking. 

"  I  don't  understand  spores,  and  I  can't  talk  theology. 
I  came  to  talk  to  you  about  something  else.  I  hope  you 
won't  be  provoked.  I  've  engaged  a  boarder." 

"A  boarder!  "  Peace  Polly  exclaimed,  the  idea  striking 
her  from  the  other  side  in  a  reverse  way,  and  as  if  it  had 
never  before  been  mentioned  between  them. 


146  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Yes.     That  is,  you  've  got  the  refusal  of  him." 

"  Him  !  "  ejaculated  Polly  again. 

"  Yes.     Is  n't  that  just  what  you  've  always  wanted  ?  " 

Now  there  is  n't  anything  much  more  exasperating  than 
to  be  taken  by  surprise,  in  a  way  you  never  meant,  by  a 
thing  you  have  forgotten  you  ever  did  want,  or  have 
ceased  to  want,  and  then  told  that  you  have  got  precisely 
your  heart's  desire. 

Peace  Polly  whirled  round  upon  her  chair  and  faced 
Lyman. 

"  When  is  *  him  '  coming  ?  and  which  side  of  the  house 
am  I  to  take  ?  or  am  I  to  go  away  altogether  ?  And  who 
is  '  him?  if  you  please  ?  " 

The  supreme  scorn  and  derision  of  the  "  him  "  cannot 
be  put  into  print,  even  with  the  aid  of  the  italics  and  bad 
grammar. 

"  I  told  you  you  could  refuse,"  said  Lyman,  calmly. 

"  I  can't  refuse  a  man  till  I  know  who  he  is !  "  remarked 
Polly,  with  a  clear,  emulating  calmness ;  as  clear  bitter, 
however,  as  camomile  tea. 

Lyman  passed  her  without  an  answer,  and  walked  to 
the  front  entrance,  where  a  comer  suddenly  stood  upon 
the  threshold. 

"Good  morning,  professor,"  said  Lyman,  comforta 
bly. 

Peace  Polly  rose  to  her  feet  galvanized,  and  stood 
there  like  Lot's  wife,  only  not  so  pale.  All  the  color 
that  she  had  not  put  into  her  spoiled  roses  was  up  in  her 
face. 

"  Polly,  you  know  Dr.  Fuller  ?  " 

Was  it  only  imperturbability,  real  and  serene,  or  was  it 
the  still  intensity  of  triumph?  and  how  much  had  Dr. 
Fuller  heard  ? 

She  had  never  yet  solved  that  first  question  ;  the  enigma 


BLIND  ROSES.  147 

of  Lyman's  temperament  was  beyond  her.  And  nobody 
was  likely  to  answer  for  her  the  second. 

But  Polly  had  also  the  advantage  of  her  temperament. 
After  that  first  instant's  shock  she  walked  bravely  for 
ward. 

"  We  were  quarreling,  —  my  brother  and  I.  At  least, 
I  was.  I  wonder  if  it  could  possibly  have  been  about 
you  ?  " 

So  far  with  the  magnificence  of  conscious  candor.  Then 
a  distinct  recollection  tingled  through  her  of  the  last  few 
words  which  were  possibly  all  the  professor  had  caught. 
And  of  these,  naturalist  as  he  was,  he  could  not  have  con 
structed  the  entire  subject.  They  were  a  fragment  that 
might  suggest  a  quite  different  fact  of  history.  And  her 
present  apparent  absurd  application  —  Polly  was  a  splen 
did,  fiery  rose  again,  but  she  stood  her  ground. 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  dear  Miss  Schott,"  said  the 
professor,  with  the  most  beautiful  ready  politeness.  "  I 
shall  not  feel  personally  slighted  if  you  refuse  me.  You 
have  known  me  such  a  very  little  while." 

Then  all  Peace  Polly's  chagrin  and  dismay  shook  them 
selves  clear,  and  rushed  away  on  the  wings  of  a  full,  pleased 
laugh.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Dr.  Fuller.  She  recol 
lected,  also,  at  the  instant,  that  the  man  had  a  wife.  She 
laughed  again. 

"  If  you  are  the  boarder,  you  may  come,"  she  said. 
"  Only,  I  don't  believe  you  will,  now.  I  generally  get  my 
punishments  as  I  go  along." 

"  You  will  this  time,"  said  the  professor.  "  For  I  am 
certainly  coming." 

And  so  that  most  unexpected  matter  found  its  settle 
ment  at  once. 

Only,  what  ever  had  possessed  Lyman  Schott  ?  Peace 
Polly  asked  herself  that  question.  She  would  not  by  any 
means  ask  Lyman. 


148  BONNYBORQUGH. 

We  naturally  wonder  about  it,  too ;  and  we,  whose 
business  it  is  to  read  between  the  lines,  can  ask  Lyman. 

The  truth  was,  Lyman  was  one  of  those  persons  who 
do  not,  all  their  lives  long,  get  over  an  infantile  sort  of  ob 
jection  to  strangers.  He  wanted  to  know  a  person  before 
being  introduced.  And  as  that  disposition  works  on  in  a 
life  along  with  other  maturings,  it  matures  for  itself  in  this 
way.  Out  of  its  own  fashion  of  doing,  its  own  reach  of 
knowing,  is  always  strangerhood.  It  cannot  give  and  take ; 
there  is  no  exchange  or  barter  in  its  theory  of  social  inter 
course.  If  it  has  only  plain  corn  and  potatoes  of  its  own 
to  deal  with,  it  can  by  no  means  establish  relations  with 
the  man  who  offers  milk  and  honey,  or  with  him  who  can 
paint  him  a  picture,  or  sell  him  out  of  a  grand,  wonderful 
conservatory  of  exotic  cultures  a  night-blooming  cereus,  or 
a  century-plant,  or  a  great  date-palm.  It  can  have  nothing 
to  do  with  aught  but  corn  and  potatoes  in  return  for  its 
own  simple  cereals  and  esculents.  A  singular  philosophy 
of  a  commerce  of  the  spheres ! 

Moreover,  distance,  absence,  a  coming  from  an  un 
known,  far-off  experience,  even  a  little  elderhood,  made 
a  barrier  against  any  near  approach ;  Lyman  Schott  held 
himself  instinctively  aloof  from  any  human  nature  which 
he  suspected  of  being  rooted  deeper  or  wider,  or  to  have 
sprung  from  any  different  conditions  of  soil  or  climate 
from  his  own.  Yet,  writh  the  sweetest  inconsistency,  he 
could  have  sat  down  serenely  with  Solomon  himself  in  all 
his  glory  and  wisdom,  if  he  had  ever  seen  him  familiarly 
in  jacket  and  trousers,  or  whatever  the  Oriental  urchin 
wore  instead  of  those,  or  had  thumbed  the  same  old 
scrolls  of  learning  with  him  before  their  beards  were 
grown. 

The  sole  reason  why  it  was  a  tolerable  thing  to  him  to 
meet  this  Dr.  C.  P.  Fuller,  of  recent  brilliant  fame,  was 


BLIND  ROSES.  149 

that  he  had  known  him,  some  three  years  younger  than 
himself,  a  simple  schoolboy  at  Wendover  Academy.  He 
had  helped  him  do  his  first  examples  in  algebra.  He  re 
membered  that,  although  he  had  pretty  nearly  forgotten 
his  own  algebra  altogether.  He  had  actually  forgotten 
also,  alas  for  Bonnyborough !  what  the  mystical  "  C.  P." 
stood  for.  They  had  always  called  little  Fuller  "  Scipio  " 
at  school. 

Besides,  it  was  good,  simple-hearted  old  Dr.  Blithecomo 
who  had  asked  Lyman  if  they  could  possibly  take  his 
friend  in  at  The  Knolls.  Professor  Fuller  was  Dr.  Blithe- 
come's  intimate  young  friend.  There  was  nothing  terrible 
in  him  or  his  achievements  to  the  doctor,  and  there  was 
nothing  formidable  about  the  doctor  to  Lyman  Schott. 
Things  which  are  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to 
one  another. 

Lyman  thought  he  should  rather  like  to  have  "  little 
Fuller "  at  The  Knolls,  and  show  him  his  farm  and  his 
planing-mill,  and  help  him  get  bugs  and  weeds  and  pond- 
scum.  That  his  work  and  delight  and  knowledge  lay 
among  these  minute  and  insignificant  things  brought  him 
somehow  comfortably  down  to  where  a  plain  man  need 
not  be  abashed  with  him.  If  his  tool  had  been  the  tele 
scope  instead  of  the  microscope,  then  indeed  I  think  Ly 
man  would  have  shrunk.  He  would  not  have  assumed 
the  ambition  of  even  such  indirect  intimacy  with  Arcturus 
and  the  Pleiades. 

Beside  all  else,  there  was  Peace  Polly,  who  wanted  to 
have  a  boarder.  Now  she  might  try.  Lyman  counted 
on  a  little  quiet  amusement  in  seeing  how  she  would  suc 
ceed. 

"  I  could  n't  even  make  a  new  beginning  with  a  board 
er  I "  Peace  Polly  said  to  Serena  Wyse,  when  she  told 
her  all  about  it,  half  laughing,  half  tremulous.  "It 


150  BONNYBOROUGH. 

makes  me  think  of  that  dreadful  verse,  '  No  place  for  re 
pentance.'  But  I  guess  I  'd  rather  be  honest,  after  all. 
I  'm  glad  he  saw  a  bit  of  rne  as  I  am,  and  I  'd.  as  lief  Ly- 
man  would  n't  think  I  was  just  turning  over  a  new  leaf 
for  this  microscope  man.  I  've  no  doubt  I  shall  be  bad 
just  a  little  while  longer.  But  I  have  got  help,  Serena," 
she  added,  with  a  sweet,  swift  seriousness.  "  I  Ve  had 
things  come  to  me ;  I  've  had  a  glimpse  —  Jacob  saw 
the  ladder,  you  know,  when  he  was  way  down  at  the  foot 
of  it,  all  discouraged  and  worn  out,  running  away  from 
his  sins,  —  and  running  into  them  again,  too ;  for  he  was 
just  half-way  between  the  two  sets  of  them.  Why  do 
you  suppose  he  had  the  vision  then?" 

"  Just  because  he  was  right  there,"  said  Miss  Serena. 
"  He  had  got  through  with  one  piece  of  his  story,  and  was 
going  to  begin  another.  When  he  came  back  from  that, 
he  had  a  different  dream.  The  first  one  showed  him 
something ;  he  only  looked  at  it.  The  second  one  tried 
him ;  he  had  something  given  him  to  do  in  that.  There 
was  where  he  first  really  got  the  better  of  himself,  and 
made  his  new  beginning." 

"  He  got  the  better,  yes  ;  but  he  came  off  halt." 

"  It  is  better  for  a  man  to  go  into  life  halt  than  to  go 
whole  into  the  burning,"  said  Miss  Serena. 

"  I  wonder  what  part  of  my  story  I  am  going  to  be 
gin,"  said  Peace  Polly. 

"  Does  it  make  any  matter  ? "  asked  Serena,  with  a 
smile.  "  It  was  after  that  very  first  vision,  the  glimpse, 
that  the  Lord  said  to  Jacob,  'I  will  not  leave  thee  till  I 
have  done  that  which  I  have  spoken  to  thee  of.' " 

A  brightness  flashed  over  Peace  Polly's  face.  "  Now  I 
have  had  it  said  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  what  it 
means." 

But  she  did  not  tell  Miss  Serena  of  the  dream  which 
had  been  her  Jacob's  ladder. 


XVII. 

RUSTY   LEAVES. 

"  Miss  PEACE  !  "  called  the  professor,  from  the  little 
parlor  on  Peace  Polly's  side  of  the  house,  which  they  had 
given  him  for  a  study. 

Peace  Polly  stopped  at  the  open  door  which  she  was 
passing. 

"  I  have  something  here  which  I  think  you  would  like 
to  see.  A  rusty  leaf." 

"  Thank  you.  With  your  long  eyes,  of  course  ?  "  and 
the  young  girl  stepped  in. 

The  tall  slanting  tubes  of  the  powerful  microscope 
sloped  in  the  full  light  of  the  west  window  down  to  — 
what?  A  bit  of  curled,  blasted,  unsightly  leaf,  apparently ; 
really,  as  Peace  Polly  was  sure  beforehand,  to  some  gate 
of  glory  into  that  under,  beautiful  infinity  that  stretches 
among  the  atoms  as  the  upper  spaces  stretch  among  the 
stars. 

Dr.  Fuller  looked  at  her  as  she  came  forward,  eagerly ; 
a  fine  flush  upon  her  face,  a  clear  shine  in  her  eyes,  the 
stir  and  gladness  of  a  new  expectation  in  a  new  realm 
just  opened  to  her.  For  her  part,  she  scarcely  thought  of 
the  professor ;  of  herself  she  thought  not  at  all.  She 
went  and  stood  there  as  a  spirit  called  to  behold  and 
learn  a  word ;  to  receive  therein  an  errand  or  an  empire  ; 
as  Uriel  might  have  gone  and  stood  within  the  sun. 
Everything  to  this  child-woman  was  so  significant,  so 
"  tremendous."  For  "  tremendous  "  only  means,  after  all, 


152  BONNYBOROUGH. 

something  to  tremble  —  to  thrill  —  at ;  and  these  things 
thrilled  her ;  their  great  meanings  stirred  a  great  possi 
bility  of  apprehension  and  reception  in  her. 

There  was  nothing  about  her  of  the  average  girl ;  in 
her  impulses  or  failures  she  would  always  rise  or  fall  far 
beyond  that.  So  she  seemed  to  this  man,  who  had  never 
come  across  just  such  a  woman  before ;  who  had  been 
tired  and  disappointed,  it  must  be  told,  with  such  women 
as  life  had  brought  him  nearest  to.  He  had  had  no 
mother  for  thirty  years. 

To  Peace  Polly  he  was  but  a  half-elderly,  all-absorbed 
scientist,  a  man  with  a  little  severe  touch  in  the  lines  of 
his  face,  and  a  fleck  of  silver  on  the  temples,  that  may 
come  early  in  these  days  of  intensified  thought  and  ac 
celerated  labor.  Beside  all  which,  even  to  an  average 
girl,  there  would  have  been  a  prophylactic  against  con 
sciousness  or  sentiment ;  he  had,  somewhere,  of  however 
little  account  to  him  it  might  appear  to  be,  a  wife.  The 
fact  of  this  littleness  of  account  bore  against  him  in  Peace 
Polly's  first  impression. 

Here  were  two  persons,  therefore,  with  whom  she  had 
all  at  once  been  thrown  in  a  way  to  arouse  a  certain  sym 
pathy  on  somewhat  unusual  grounds ;  for  each  of  whom 
she  had  also  conceived  at  the  outset  a  slight  distinct  an 
tagonism.  Was  nothing  ever  to  approach  her  in  all  her 
life  but  after  this  fashion,  with  an  exception  ?  or  was  it 
her  way  of  taking  exception,  so  over-readily  with  all,  — 
with  even  herself,  and  to  begin  with  ? 

But  the  rusty  leaf.  There  it  lay,  under  the  light,  a 
blighted,  refuse  thing ;  through  the  miracle  -  working 
glasses  Peace  Polly  saw  a  flower-patch  of  most  exquisite 
soft  bells,  of  a  buff-amber  color,  transparent,  delicate,  hold 
ing  up  their  little  clustered  cups,  in  each  of  which  lay 
treasure  of  round,  tiny,  heaped-up  seeds,  its  bountiful  in 
trusted  riches  of  life. 


RUSTY  LEAVES.  153 

"  There  we  begin  with  the  semblance  of  a  plant,"  said 
Dr.  Fuller. 

"  But  they  are  plants,  with  most  lovely  flowers  ;  what 
else  ?  "  said  Peace  Polly. 

"  Nothing  else  ;  not  quite  that ;  only  spore-bearers." 

"  Dear,  little,  meek,  glorious  things  !  "  said  Peace  Polly, 
softly  to  herself. 

Somehow,  with  Dr.  Fuller's  words,  had  come  involun 
tarily  to  her  the  refrain  of  the  hymn,  "  Only  an  armor- 
bearer." 

Only  treasure-bearers,  these  were,  away  out  of  human 
recognition,  in  invisibility;  but  they  bore  their  charge 
safe  for  the  great  Lord  of  the  treasury. 

"  Are  n't  the  ferns  spore-bearers,  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  They  are  of  the  same  natural  kingdom  only, 
beautiful  as  they  are." 

"Not  more  beautiful  than  these,  when  you  see  these," 
said  Peace  Polly.  "  Now  I  know  why  the  fern-seed  gave 
invisibility.  And  it  seems  to  me  "  —  She  stopped  on 
the  verge  of  a  thoughtful  saying  which  her  second  im 
pulse  withheld. 

"  What  does  it  seem  to  you,  please,  Miss  Peace  ? " 
asked  the  professor. 

"The  kind  of  invisibility  that  does  not  see  itself," 
Peace  answered ;  as  she  always  did  answer  when  not  to 
reply  would  be  to  make  the  matter  of  her  own  saying 
more  important  than  she  ever  cared  to  do. 

Then  he  showed  her  some  diatoms,  —  wonderful  little 
shells  of  dead  and  gone  spore-bearers,  —  fairy  filigrees, 
like  little  canoes,  or  long,  lace-like  pods,  formed  of  silex, 
Dr.  Fuller  told  her,  and  forming  in  their  turn,  in  the  slow 
deposit  of  ages,  great  foundations  on  which  cities  have 
been  built.  Peace  Polly  thought  of  the  "  battling  Ti 
tans."  These  were  the  Titans  of  the  little.  Another 


154  BONNYBOROUGH. 

sort  were  in  every  pretty  shape  of  vases,  baskets,  censers, 
flasks,  the  tiniest  things  conceivable  in  form,  even  under 
the  microscope,  yet  all  perfect  and  lovely  in  each  mesh 
and  line  and  intersection,  and  of  shapes  the  furthest  like 
of  which,  out  of  big,  tangible  material,  only  the  fairest  art 
has  ever  approached  in  construction. 

After  that,  some  spicules  of  "  glass  sponge,"  crystal 
lized  fibres  in  crosses,  stars,  lances,  anchors ;  and  last  of 
all,  some  mould-particles  which  showed  like  a  little  field 
of  spirit-daisies. 

When  she  lifted  herself  up  and  turned  around  to  go 
away,  "  I  feel  like  a  mastodon,"  she  said.  "  When  I  was 
a  little  child,  somebody  told  me  that  every  step  I  took  I 
crushed  a  million  little  living  things.  I  know  better  now. 
My  step  could  not  get  near  enough  to  crush  them.  They 
are  quite  safe  in  their  infini-tesi-mality." 

The  professor  smiled  to  hear  her  gradually  arrive  at 
the  formation  of  the  big  derivative,  which  she  wrought 
carefully  into  utterance  as  the  only  word  to  use,  though 
she  must  needs  make  it  as  she  went  along. 

"  You  will  come  again,  Miss  Peace  ?  "  he  said.  "  I 
have  many  things  that  I  could  show  you." 

That  saying  brought  up  another  to  her.  It  was  the 
saying  of  the  Lord  himself,  who  is  the  word  of  all  this 
wonderful  creation.  And  the  sentence  with  which  He  fol 
lowed  it,  speaking  it  of  spiritual  things,  truly,  yet  how  true 
it  was  also  in  the  signs,  the  parables  hidden  in  the  founda 
tions  of  the  world  !  "  Ye  cannot  bear  them  now." 

"I  have  had  as  much  as  I  could  take  to-day,"  said 
Peace  Polly ;  and  went  away  with  a  sweet  shadow  on  her 
face,  the  dropping  of  the  shining  eagerness  into  the  still 
ness  of  a  satisfied  delight.  Professor  Fuller  noted  that 
also.  The  girl  herself  was  beginning  to  be  a  study  to 
him. 


RUSTY  LEAVES.  155 

If  she  were  any  more  so  than  to  herself,  he  might  in 
deed  have  realized  that  a  new  science  was  before  him  ; 
something  beyond  lenses  and  tests,  or  even  records  of  ob 
servation.  For  no  human  being  is  to  be  classed  or  judged, 
arbitrarily,  as  being  of  this  or  that  definite  character,  like 
a  polyp  or  a  mollusk ;  nay,  it  is  often  quite  as  hard  to  say 
where  the  true  progressive  connection  lies,  or  the  step  is 
made,  from  one  order  to  another ;  it  is  kingdom  beside 
kingdom,  truly,  and  even  in  the  very  individual. 

And  that  brings  me  to  what  I  had  been  thinking  of  be 
fore,  and  was  shortly  about  to  say,  and  with  which  I  may 
as  well  begin  another  chapter. 


XVIII. 

CROSS    LIGHTS. 

HUMAX  nature  is  a  very  complex  thing,  a  truism  safely 
asserted  of  the  race,  and  leading  to  not  much  of  anything 
in  particular  statements  ;  but  when  I  tell  you,  for  instance, 
as  I  find  I  need  to  do,  that  the  Rev.  Richard  Innesley  was 
of  a  very  complex  character,  you  not  unreasonably  expect 
explanation  in  some  detail,  and  some  sort  of  reconciling 
key  to  declared  contrarieties.  This  threatens  a  long 
analysis.  Do  not  be  concerned ;  I  shall  hardly  presume 
to  make  it,  abstractly ;  if  the  story  does  not  do  it  in  any 
degree,  it  is  my  failure  in  telling  the  story.  I  am  not  fond 
of  vivisection  ;  let  the  live  thing  render  its  own  revelation 
of  living ;  find  out  from  the  dead  thing,  if  you  can,  what 
it  had  to  live  with,  and  why  it  had  to  die. 

There  is  this  to  say :  that  to  pronounce  a  nature  com 
plex  is  not  of  necessity  to  decide  it  great,  or  the  higher 
toward  perfection,  but  rather  the  contrary  ;  for,  once  ar 
rived  in  the  scale  of  life  at  the  human,  we  have  come  to 
where  advance  means  or  involves  an  ascending  reduction. 
The  unit  of  mere  existence  must  develop  into  manifold- 
ness,  refine  and  complement  itself  to  complexity,  the  more 
and  more  as  the  revealing  order  rises ;  but  by  and  by  ar 
rives  the  point  where  the  refractions  begin  to  converge 
again ;  the  rays  run  inward  ;  the  differenced  attributes 
join  and  merge  toward  singleness ;  the  noblest  is  the 
simplest ;  the  Infinite  is  One. 

Richard  Innesley  was  not  farther  on  than  many  of  us 


CROSS  LIGHTS.  157 

in  this  long  fulfillment ;  there  were  contradictions  in  him  ; 
he  knew  them,  even  bitterly,  himself. 

He  believed,  and  he  revered ;  he  did  not  handle  holy 
things  with  carelessly  profane  hands ;  he  examined  him 
self,  as  it  fell  to  him  to  exhort  others  to  do ;  he  would 
gladly  have  had  his  soul  in  white,  arrayed  for  the  true 
priesthood.  But  he  was  particular  too  about  the  set  of  his 
surplice,  and  aware  that  his  handsome,  round,  white  throat 
became  the  clerical  collar  well.  He  did  know,  sometimes, 
even  in  tho  Te  Deum,  what  was  happening  below  the  chan 
cel.  How  could  he  help  catching  the  gleam  when  Rose 
Howick's  light  summer  dress  and  white  ribbons  came  flut 
tering  and  shining  through  the  dusky  aisle  and  into  the 
third  pew  in  front  ? 

What  was  she  asking,  as  she  knelt  there,  for  her  young, 
fresh  life  ? 

"O  Lord,  save  thy  people,  and  bless  thine  heritage. 
Govern  them,  and  lift  them  up  forever  !  " 

He  chanted  the  words,  remembering  that  elsewhere  it 
is,  "  feed  them,"  and  that  either  way  the  meaning  is  of 
the  instant  ordering  and  providing  that  are  for  the  blessed 
and  continual  lifting  up  out  of  all  "partiality  and  hypoc 
risy  "  into  truth  and  entireness,  into  the  numbering  with 
the  saints,  and  the  walking  before  God  in  the  land  of  the 
living,  which  is  the  glory  everlasting. 

"  Day  by  day  we  magnify  thee." 

"  Vouchsafe  "  —  pledge  us  surely  —  "to  keep  us  this 
day  without  sin. " 

His  heart  was  in  the  prayer  that  is  only  another  word 
ing  of  "  deliver  us  from  evil :  because  thine  is  the  contin 
ual  glory  of  all  Thou  wilt  make  of  us,  of  all  Thou  wilt 
show  thy  power  in  us  to  be." 

Yet  Peace  Polly  had  been  right,  and  he  had  not  got 
altogether  away  from  earth,  while  leading  his  people's  as 
criptions  up  to  the  very  gate  and  glory  of  heaven. 


158  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Out  of  the  pulpit,  as  in  it,  there  were  the  lesser  and 
the  larger  side  of  him  ;  the  natural  and  the  spiritual  man. 
Why  not,  since  they  were  in  St.  Paul  also,  and  fought 
out  their  everlasting  battle  in  his  converted,  consecrated 
life?  We  accept  without  blame  or  wonder  that  grand, 
general  confession  ;  what  we  blame  and  wonder  at  are  the 
small,  special  illustrations  of  the  same  hi  people  at  our 
side  to-day. 

Peace  Polly  wondered  if  the  young  clergyman  had 
meant  all  those  things  he  had  to  say,  at  all,  when  she  saw 
him,  after  church  was  over,  walk  up  the  shady  street 
with  Rose  and  her  mother,  chatting  blithely  with  them  by 
the  way.  How  could  the  minister  from  the  altar  come 
down  so  straightway  among  the  common  places  and 
speeches,  the  common  social  encounters  and  exchanges, 
even  to  seek  and  to  be  briskly  pleased  with  them,  like 
any  other  man  who  had  only  "  been  to  "  church,  and  got 
done  with  it  ? 

Yet  the  words  that  he  had  said  to  her,  that  day  upon 
the  rock  among  the  breakers  !  And  of  course  he  had  to 
come  down  into  the  street  and  to  go  home,  as  he  had  had 
to  come  down  off  the  great  ocean  cliff,  and  leave  the 
splendor  and  the  speech  of  the  sea  behind  him,  for  a 
time.  He  could  not  soar  off  overhead,  or  disappear  until 
another  Sunday !  She  was  unreasonable,  of  course  ;  but 
she  wished  things  held  together  better.  She  wished  it 
had  not  been,  so  evidently,  because  Rose  Howick  was  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Bonnyborough.  She  had  not  the  least  bit 
of  acrimony  toward  Rose,  however.  She  thought  it 
might  be  a  very  disillusionizing  thing  to  become  a  clergy 
man's  wife.  Yet  it  was  natural  enough  for  a  clergyman 
to  have  a  wife,  as  it  was  for  him  to  come  down  from  his 
pulpit  into  the  street  and  to  walk  home  to  dinner. 

She  caught  herself  wishing,  in  one  of  these  captious  so- 


CROSS  LIGHTS.  159 

liloquies,  that  things  might  be  lifted  up  forever,  or  else, 
once  for  all,  be  comfortably  let  down  to  mere  every-day. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Innesley  had  not  forgotten,  on  his 
part,  the  afternoon  upon  the  rocks,  or  the  proud,  clear, 
self-judging  spirit  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  there.  I 
think  he  rather  carefully  tried  and  compared  Miss  Rose 
in  these  days  by  some  half-acknowledged  standard,  to  see 
if  haply  there  might  not  be  as  much  beyond  mere  beauty, 
of  some  fair  strength,  in  her.  I  suspect  him  of  having 
said  to  himself  once,  looking  into  her  pretty,  smiling  face, 
and  seeing  there  only  the  smilingness,  that,  though  the 
confession  of  an  unruly  temper  was  a  brave  and  noble 
thing,  the  possession  of  a  sunniness  that  needed  no  such 
avowal  might,  for  the  comfort  of  human  relations,  be 
quite  possibly  a  better  still. 

At  the  same  time,  he  had  got  in  the  way,  since  Dr. 
Fuller  had  been  there,  of  coming  a  good  deal  to  the  old 
Schott  mansion. 

With  the  lesser  and  the  larger  of  him,  he  began  to  be 
divided  in  his  mind.  Which,  however,  was  the  really 
lesser  and  which  the  larger  may  have  been  question 
within  question,  such  as  waits,  in  most  lives,  final  proof. 

Moreover,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  it  was  but  the  di 
vision  in  his  mind  as  concerning  his  acquaintance  with 
these  two  young  girls  which  was  at  this  time  influencing 
his  movements.  He  had  but  just  begun  to  be  aware  of 
that ;  hardly  so  much  as  aware,  even  ;  there  had  but  just 
begun  to  be  anything  of  the  sort  that  he  should  gradually 
become  aware  of.  It  was  in  him,  but  he  had  not  directly 
looked  at  it. 

There  was  another  complexity  which  his  intercourse 
with  the  professor,  and  especially  in  the  company,  as 
often  happened,  of  Peace  Polly  as  a  third,  just  now 
touched  upon.  And  of  this  again,  in  its  full  import,  he 
was  not  yet  openly  self-suspicious. 


160  BONNYBOROUGH. 

I  have  said  that  Richard  Innesley  believed.  He  did, 
devoutly,  that  there  was  a  glorious  thing  given  into  the 
world  to  be  believed.  He  could  as  little  have  imagined 
a  world  without  the  Christian  revelation  in  it  as  without 
himself  in  it.  It  was  here  ;  how  otherwise  could  he  have 
it  to  think  of  ?  How  otherwise  could  there  be  question  or 
dispute  of  it  ?  He  had  not  put  himself  here  ;  he  had  not 
always  been  here  ;  but  to  think  of  the  whole  creation  with 
out  himself  anywhere  in  it,  —  he  could  not  so  discharge 
himself  of  the  very  foundation  of  his  thought.  Neither 
could  he  put  Christ,  as  the  central  fact  of  it,  out  of  the 
world. 

But  was  He  right  here,  in  his  world,  the  world  of  every 
day  ?  Was  there  as  little  need  to  talk  about  it,  to  prove 
it,  as  to  assert  the  sun  in  the  heavens  ? 

What  were  all  these  new  facts  and  theories  that  were 
springing  up,  these  clouds  of  heaven  in  which  the  Son  of 
man  did  not  seem  to  be  ?  What  were  the  indubitable 
reconciling  answers,  on  the  science  side  of  the  Lord's 
word,  that  made  the  word  a  whole,  and  showed  it  to  be  in 
his  Son  from  the  beginning  ?  He  would  indeed  have  had 
a  conclusive  argument  to  all  this  ;  something  that  he  could 
say  to  himself,  to  others,  irrefutably.  He  searched  for 
some  Star  in  the  East  that  should  move  triumphant  among 
these  very  clouds,  and  go  before  all  wisdom,  all  question, 
all  slow,  entangling  research,  until  it  should  stand  clear 
and  central  right  over  where  the  manifest  Presence  lies. 

He  was  in  peril  of  the  stumbling-block  of  all  reverent 
materialism;  the  demand  that  that  way  we  shall  touch 
God. 

The  agnosticism  of  the  day  was  so  sublimely  knowing  ; 
it  stopped,  in  such  grand  humility,  so  short !  If  it  could 
but  be  pursued  on  its  own  pathway,  a  little  further ! 

Unless,  indeed,  so  seeking,  he  might  himself  get  led  the 
further  back  ! 


CROSS  LIGHTS.  161 

He  would  fain  learn  what  Dr.  Fuller  had  come  to,  as 
regarded  faith. 

The  professor  came  to  church,  sometimes ;  Mr.  Innesley 
had  not  yet  seen  him  at  the  Communion  Table. 

The  young  minister  could  not  ask  him  questions,  even 
lead  to  them  in  talk,  as  other  men  might ;  that  would  be 
to  seem  to  catechise,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  yet  in  its 
minority.  He  was  too  modest  to  do  that.  It  was  here 
that  a  third  person,  a  bright  woman,  young,  learning  of 
life,  eager  to  know  and  to  reconcile  knowledges,  camo 
happily  in.  The  visits  at  The  Knolls  would  have  been  but 
poor  opportunities,  but  for  Peace  Polly. 

Peace  Polly,  all  unwitting,  was  gathering  on  either 
hand,  comparing,  making  such  conclusions  as  she  could. 

She  was  very  careful,  at  the  same  time  somewhat  whim 
sical,  in  her  way  with  the  young  clergyman.  She  was 
mindful  of  her  decision  that  the  beginning  of  their  ac 
quaintance  involved  no  special  continuance  of  it;  she 
therefore  eluded  all  specialty.  The  pretty  distance  she 
kept  up,  as  if  whatever  ground  they  met  on,  whatever 
common  subjects  might  chance  to  interest  them,  left  them 
quite  as  separate  as  they  began  with  them,  as  individual  as 
the  same  wave  leaves  two  round  pebbles  on  the  shore  that 
may  be  rolled  side  by  side  by  one  impulse  and  far  apart 
again  by  the  next,  was  not  the  least  of  her  attractions  to 
Richard  Innesley.  She  would  have  been  ferocious  with 
herself  if  she  had  known  it ;  but  no  policy  of  the  most 
finished  coquette  could  have  been  surer  or  finer  to  such 
end  of  attracting.  He  had  to  begin  all  over  again  with 
her,  from  some  fresh,  accidental  starting-place,  every  time. 
It  wa's  always  an  interesting  uncertainty  in  his  mind  at 
what  point  he  should  find  or  take  up  acquaintance  with 
her,  next.  He  was  divided,  again,  between  the  interest 
of  this  and  the  comfortableness  of  always  finding  the 
11 


162  BONNYBOROUGH. 

bright,  sweet  readiness,  not  forward,  but  allowing  duly 
the  pleasant  advance  of  growing  intimacy,  that  he  had 
with  Rose  Howick. 

Peace  Polly's  gatherings  and  appropriations  from  her 
life  in  these  days  were  far  more  impersonal.  Persons 
contributed  to  them ;  that  was  pretty  nearly  all. 


XIX. 

HONESTY-PLANT. 

ONE  day,  just  before  the  young  clergyman  dropped  in, 
there  had  been  a  little  breeze  in  the  house. 

Peace  Polly  had  been  very  lovely  lately.  She  was  happy 
in  new  thoughts  ;  she  was  not  thrown  back  upon  herself ; 
there  was  a  new  element  in  the  life  at  the  old  homestead, 
and  she  was  taking  it  in,  as  the  very  element  she  had 
lacked.  Assimilating  it,  she  was  growing ;  she  was  thriv 
ing  as  a  plant  set  out  from  winter  housing  into  warm 
spring  air.  Or  she  was  like  a  human  creature  let  out  from 
a  long,  cramped  winter  between  brick  walls  into  freedom 
and  broadening  sunshine  ;  permitted  to  make  a  new  sum 
mer  abiding  among  great  hills  and  pleasant  fields. 

She  had  had  a  latch-key  given  her  to  let  herself  in  to  a 
very  House  Beautiful,  —  to  the  chambers  of  grand,  under 
lying,  significant  truth ;  from  these  the  lofty  ways  and 
stairs  led  up  to  the  fair  higher  rooms,  with  their  windows 
wide  open  to  the  morning  and  the  midday  and  the  evening 
light.  Only  the  place  was  vast,  and  one  might  wander 
long ;  might  be  stopped  by  many  a  blind  turn ;  might 
stand  questioning  at  a  closed  door,  often.  It  was  they 
who  questioned  least,  perhaps,  but  who  just  saw  the  shin 
ing  above  them  and  followed  the  light  gladly,  without 
trying  to  understand  all  the  intricate  plan,  or  map  the 
passage-ways,  who  got  furthest  up  and  saw  widest  both 
within  and  abroad. 

Now  and  then  she  stopped  and  looked  at  herself  in  this 
wise  :  — 


164  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Did  it  take  all  this  to  pacify  me  ?  to  put  my  temper 
and  my  restlessness  away  out  of  sight,  and  keep  me  safely 
occupied,  like  a  fractious  child  ?  I  am  seeming  quite  ami 
able  now,  even  to  myself;  but  it  is  only  because  I  am 
kept  pleased.  I  am  not  a  bit  better  than  I  was  before. 
Lyman  lets  me  alone  more ;  ought  I  to  want  him  to  let 
me  alone  ?  And  don't  I  let  him  alone  a  great  deal  more 
than  a  good  sister  ought  ?  Have  I  just  got  rid  of  him, 
living  right  here  in  his  house,  and  gone  off  worlds  away 
from  him,  contentedly,  in  my  real  inside  living  ?  And 
does  n't  it  seem  to  him  just  as  I  thought  it  would,  that  I 
am  behaving  well  now,  like  that  same  fractious  child, 
only  because  there  is  company  ?  " 

When  these  things  came  into  her  mind,  she  felt  like 
any  outburst,  that  should  show  she  would  not  put  on  a 
piece  of  made-up  character,  a  kind  of  good  gown  for  an 
occasion ;  should  honestly  reveal  her  as  she  knew  herself 
to  be,  to  these  new  friends,  who,  she  perceived  quite  in 
telligently,  were  already  thinking  a  best  of  her  that  was 
only  her  transitory  and  conditional  best. 

There  were,  indeed,  the  untrained  child  and  the  sweet, 
high-souled  woman  in  her;  they  were  on  her  every-day 
and  Sabbath  sides,  —  the  earth  side  and  the  heavenly. 
There  is  a  divine  hypocrisy  in  some  natures  that  reaches 
continually  one  way  to  "the  very,  absolute  best,  and  the 
other  way  has  continually  to  reproach  itself  as  false,  be 
cause  all  of  it  has  not  yet  grown  up  to  the  fair,  celestial 
level.  I  do  not  think  these  were  the  kind  of  hypocrites 
whom  the  Lord  scourged  with  his  rebuke. 

The  breeze  arose  after  this  fashion. 

Peace  Polly  and  Serena  Wyse  were  comfortably  busy 
in  the  cool,  open  hah1.  Serena  had  come  over  in  the  early 
afternoon,  with  a  "  society  quilt  "  —  if  the  reader  chances 
to  know  what  that  thing  is  —  in  a  big  bag;  it  was  in 


HONESTY-PLANT.  165 

patches  as  yet,  separate  artistic  efforts  in  calico,  of  some 
five-and-twenty  women  :  stars  and  stripes,  and  hexagon 
and  suns  ;  here  and  there  a  more  modern  touch  in  a  piece 
of  brilliant  "  crazy-work,"  or  an  "  applied  "  design.  These 
five-and-twenty  women  were  the  sewing-circle,  of  which 
Serena  Wyse  was  the  devoted  president.  She  had  all 
these  stars  and  stripes  and  individual  ambitions  to  regu 
late  and  harmonize  into  a  whole,  with  the  most  careful 
distribution  of  positions,  according  to  the  best  spirit  of  a 
pure  public  service ;  to  find  place  for  everybody's  work 
that  should  well  agree  with  its  neighbors',  and  put  nobody 
in  a  side  row  or  a  corner,  ignominiously ;  in  fact,  put 
everybody  in  the  middle.  She  had  brought  it  to  Peace 
Polly  for  her  help  with  the  problem  and  in  the  tacking  it 
together. 

The  two  women  were  cheerful  over  it.  Women  who  like 
each  other  are  happy  with  a  piece  of  industry  between 
them ;  and  every  woman  is  happy  with  her  work  well  laid 
out  before  her  for  some  few  straight-going  hours.  Her 
occupation  is  so  apt  ordinarily  to  consist  chiefly  in  inter 
ruptions. 

The  house  was  very  bright  and  cool  and  still ;  shady- 
bright,  with  the  leaf  and  branch  shields  waving  before 
the  open  doors.  Rebeccarabby  had  done  clashing  her 
cymbals  of  tin  and  sheet-iron ;  everything  was  clean,  you 
may  be  confident,  and  put  away  in  place,  in  her  territory ; 
and  she  herself  was  in  her  afternoon  repose  up-stairs,  which 
alone  accounted  for  the  pleasant  hush,  unbroken  by  any 
distant  tramp  or  ring. 

Lyman  had  gone  to  East  Bend  to-day,  to  see  a  builder ; 
the  professor  went  out  shortly  after  dinner  with  case  and 
net,  collecting.  The  women  chattered  unconstrainedly 
over  their  big  table  on  which  the  patches  were  spread, 
placing  and  altering  them,  and  mixing  up  their  calico  per- 


166  BONNYBOROUGH. 

plexities  and  reliefs  with  any  other  talk  that  came.  The 
lengthening  shadows  grew  cooler,  and  the  freckles  of  sun 
light  between  the  white-oak  boughs  ran  dancing  further 
in  upon  the  floor  through  the  garden  doorway,  as  the  rays 
shot  more  level  from  the  west. 

"  Why,  it  must  be  five  o'clock !  "  said  Peace  Polly, 
suddenly,  as  a  bounce  down  the  kitchen  stairway  pro 
claimed  the  descent  of  Rabby  from  her  dreams,  and  the 
resonant  rasp  of  table-legs  across  a  bare  floor  followed, 
betokening  her  instant  vigorous  onset  upon  the  next  do 
mestic  duty,  the  getting  of  things  together  for  the  prepar 
ing  of  the  day's  last  meal. 

"  Rabby's  tumble  and  rush  are  as  sure  to  time  as  the 
stroke  of  the  hour ;  if  the  clock  stopped  I  should  set  it  by 
her."  At  that  instant,  the  hammer  behind  the  dial  fell ; 
five  clear  notes  counted  themselves  forth  from  the  tall  old 
case  on  the  landing. 

u  We  are  to  have  something  good  for  tea,  I  am  sure  ; 
she  does  n't  drag  the  table  to  the  front  unless  something 
very  precise  is  to  be  handled.  It  will  be  blueberry  cake, 
I  think." 

Serena  was  folding  her  quilt.  She  knew  Peace  Polly 
expected  her  to  stay  ;  she  was  thinking  whether  she  had 
better.  She  never  made  any  little  false  preliminaries  ; 
she  never  said,  "  I  must  be  going,"  when  she  only  meant 
"  if  you  don't  ask  me  to  stay  any  longer,"  and  was  pre 
pared  to  yield  to  the  expected  invitation.  She  wondered 
quietly  within  herself  whether  Lyman  would  be  back  in 
time. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  red  memorandum  book  ?  "  was 
heard,  in  an  annoyed  voice,  from  over  the  stairs. 

"  Why,  where  did  he  come  from  ?  —  Yes,  it  was  on  your 
mantel  yesterday,"  called  Peace  Polly  back. 

"  Where    is   it  now  ? "      There  was   something   more 


HONESTY-PLANT.  167 

vexing  in  the  strained  moderation  of  the  tone  —  in  its 
absolute  assumption  that  the  person  addressed  was  ac 
countable,  and  was  simply  to  be  dealt  with  in  a  forced 
patience  —  than  would  have  been  in  an  explosion  of  ordi 
nary  irritability. 

"  In  your  other  coat  pocket,"  answered  Peace  Polly, 
coolly.  It  was  an  assumption  in  her  turn,  and  a  sarcasm ; 
but  Lyman  took  it  literally. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  meddle  with  it,"  he  said ; 
but  he  went  and  looked,  and  evidently  found  it,  for  there 
was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two  after  that. 

Then  he  called  again.  "  Where  's  my  two-foot  rule  ? 
and  my  pencil  !  "  accumulated  grievance  and  an  accord 
ing  righteous  resentment  intensified  in  his  voice. 

"What  is  the  reason,"  asked  Peace  Polly,  cheerfully 
and  deliberately,  —  it  might  seem  in  solilo'quy,  —  Serena 
hoped  so,  —  to  the  listener  above,  "  that  men,  some  men, 
never  can  endure  the  losing  or  mislaying  of  their  least 
little  bits  of  property  ?  The  exasperation  seems  to  be  in 
inverse  ratio  to  the  square  of  the  value.  They  can  go 
through  really  terrible  things,  a  fire  or  a  failure  or  a 
shipwreck  ;  but  if  it  is  an  inch  of  lead-pencil  that  is  lost, 
ah !  "  The  long  breath  she  drew  and  let  go  was  the  very 
abandonment  of  sheer  despair  at  further  expression. 

Serena  shook  her  head  reprovingly  ;  at  this  instant  the 
professor  stood  in  his  doorway.  It  really  seemed  as  if  he 
had  an  apparitional  knack  with  doorways  at  exciting  junc 
tures.  Lyman,  looking  from  the  opposite  baluster  above, 
whence  he  could  see  only  the  professor,  naturally  thought 
that  it  was  with  him  Peace  Polly  was  making  ridicule  of 
his  misfortune. 

Serena  felt  relief.  She  did  not  care,  or  quite  know  how, 
to  make  her  presence  known  ;  but  Dr.  Fuller  was  obvi 
ous  ;  he  ought  to  do  as  well. 


168  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Lyman  spoke  again.  "  I  should  like  to  have  you  an 
swer  me,"  he  said,  with  bitter  self-control.  "  I  suppose 
you  have  cleared  them  all  up  while  you  were  about  it." 

Peace  Polly  was  as  cool  as  a  fresh  water-cress,  —  with 
the  same  bite  inside.  As  yet,  she  had  not  lost  outward 
temper  in  the  least,  for  she  undoubtedly  had  quite  the 
best  of  it. 

"  You  might  look  in  the  left-hand  secretary  drawer," 
she  answered  ;  "  or,  perhaps  I  put  those  two  little  things 
in  the  trousers  pocket !  " 

It  was  perfectly  evident  to  the  two  spectators  that  she 
was  still  playing  with  his  small  injustice,  tracking  his  own 
probable  disposals  with  her  calm  suggestions.  Lyman 
took  everything  persistently  down  to  the  very  ground  of 
the  letter.  There  was  silence  again,  except  for  his  foot 
steps  to  and  fro,  and  hasty  openings  of  drawer  and  ward 
robe. 

"  The  best  way  another  time,"  he  said  at  last,  taking 
the  trouble  to  come  and  say  it  as  for  the  sake  of  a  certain 
condonation,  "  will  be  for  you  to  leave  my  things  for  me 
to  put  away  myself." 

This  was  irresistible.  As  he  turned  away  again  over 
head,  Peace  Polly's  laugh  broke  forth.  But  for  that  all 
might  have  been  well ;  at  least  the  rest  might  not  have 
happened.  The  laugh  sounded  somewhat  exaggerated; 
for  in  truth  there  was  something  a  little  out  of  control  in 
it,  and  it  might  quite  easily  have  been  tears.  Undoubt 
edly  Lyman  felt  its  mockery,  literal  as  he  was ;  it  was 
hardly  possible  to  fail  of  translating  that.  And  Professor 
Fuller  was  down  there,  as  he  knew,  and  doubtless  laugh 
ing  also. 

There  was  this  mistake :  the  professor  was  not  there 
now,  nor  laughing.  He  had  smiled,  but  a  grave  look  had 
followed,  that  Peace  Polly  caught  and  felt  the  smiting  of, 


HONESTY-PLA  NT.  169 

although,  and  because,  it  was  quite  gentle  and  unmeant ; 
and  he  had  turned  again  within  his  room.  Very  likely 
he  would  have  closed  his  door,  but  for  the  rebuke  which 
that  might  seem. 

Miss  Serena  laid  her  folded  quilt  within  the  bag. 
"  Good-by,"  she  said  softly,  and  slipped  toward  the  hill 
side  door. 

"Oh,  you'll  stay?"  Peace  Polly  just  managed  the 
three  words. 

"Not  this  time,  dear;  I  could  not  stay  to-night.  It  is 
Susannah's  night  for  her  prayer -meeting,  —  too,"  she 
added,  on  the  door-step,  whither  Peace  Polly  followed  her. 
She  was  so  honest,  she  had  to  put  on  that  "  too,"  which 
told  all  the  rest  of  it.  Susannah  could  have  locked  the 
house  and  gone  to  meeting  well  enough.  But  here  Lyman 
had  been  laughed  at.  Serena  would  not  Jiave  him  know 
she  knew  it,  much  more  think  she  had  taken  part,  even 
though  at  the  moment  he  had  deserved  it.  Lyman  Schott 
was  a  good  man  ;  and  she  was  where  she  could  take  part 
both  ways. 

Peace  Polly  walked  back  without  a  word  to  the  front 
of  the  hall.  She  stood  shamed ;  she  had  shown  up  her 
brother  in  his  fault.  Not  his  fault  so  much,  either,  as  his 
deficiency. 

And  then  Lyman  came  down-stairs  with  a  high  look, 
wearing  a  clean  starched  seersucker  sack  conspicuously 
torn  at  the  elbow,  with  the  flap  of  the  rent  stiffened  back. 

Peace  Polly  turned  round  upon  him.  She  took  ven 
geance  upon  herself  now  by  showing  out  her  own  fault 
relentlessly.  She  had  been  so  fine,  so  superior,  in  her 
calmness  and  her  derision  ! 

"  You  look  like  an  injured  half -angel,"  she  said  ;  "  one 
wing  just  sprouted, — and  blighted.  Where  did  you  get 
that  coat  ?  " 


170  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  On  the  basket." 

"That  was  the  mending-basket.  There  is  another  in 
your  bureau.  You  have  come  down  with  that  on  to  mor 
tify  me." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  the  mending-basket  would  be  stand 
ing  round  till  Friday.  It  was  n't  ever  so  in  my  mother's 
time." 

"I  wish  that  your  mother's  time  had  lasted  till  this 
day ;  and  that  there  never  had  been  question  of  my 
mother  or  me  !  "  and  Peace  Polly  fled  up-stairs. 

"  Pease  porridge  hot !  "  said  the  big  brother,  as  the 
professor  came  out  of  his  room  again  toward  him.  "  The 
little  girl  has  a  temper  ;  but  she  gets  over  it  as  quick  as  it 
gets  over  her.  And  that 's  allowing  considerable." 

"  Is  n't  there  something  somewhere  about  causing  the 
little  ones  to  offend  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Fuller.  "  If  I  were  you, 
I  would  remember  where  she  is  tender  to  touch.  If  it 
were  a  lame  foot  or  a  finger,  you  would." 

Lyman  looked  at  his  friend,  surprised.  It  was  a  quite 
new  idea.  "I  never  thought  of  that  before,"  he  said, 
simply. 

Undoubtedly,  Lyman  Schott's  self-control,  exasperating 
as  he  might  make  it,  sprang  from  a  true  intent  of  right 
eousness.  If  he  could  see  another  thing  that  was  quite 
as  much  his  duty  to  do  he  would  do  it. 

I  think  it  appears  in  this  story  that  we  have  not  to 
concern  ourselves  with  a  single  person  who  is  either  saint 
or  sinner.  Even  Miss  Serena,  —  well,  we  will  leave  that 
to  the  penetration  of  the  reader.  He  will  take  pleasura 
ble  credit  to  himself  in  the  discovery  of  the  least  palpable 
thing,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  chronicle. 

Lyman  went  through  the  rooms  and  up  the  other 
stairs,  changed  his  coat,  and,  coming  down,  took  up  his 
hat  and  went  straight  out  of  the  east  door  across  the  gar 
den  to  the  Wyse  house. 


HONESTY-PLANT.  171 

"  I  want  you  to  come  over  and  see  Polly,  and  take 
tea,"  he  said.  "  I  Ve  been  vexing  her  again,  and  you  can 
smooth  her  down,  —  comfort  her  up,  I  mean,"  he  added, 
with  that  peculiar  smile  of  his  that  now  and  then  showed 
forth  the  whole  real  sweetness  of  the  man. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  'd  better  come,  right  away,"  an 
swered  Serena,  with  her  staid  gentleness ;  "by  and  by, 
may  be,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  you  're  all  out 
round  the  fore  door.  And,  Lyman,  why  won't  you  re 
member  about  the  '  little  ones, '  and  the  '  millstone  '  ? 
You  could  n't  bear  that  about  your  neck ;  it  would  hurt 
your  heart,  I  know." 

Lyman  was  silent ;  it  was  strange  to  have  that  said 
twice  to  him.  It  was  strange  to  have  Serena  troubled  for 
a  hurt  to  his  heart.  She  had  hardly  treated  him  as  if 
he  had  one,  he  thought.  Nobody  had  been  very  near  to 
him  all  these  years,  on  any  ground  like  that.  He  did 
not  think  anybody  had  cared  very  much  what  became 
of  that  part  of  him,  since  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  had 
the  mother  to  go  to  whom  Peace  Polly  could  not  bear  to 
have  mentioned.  He  forgot  to  consider  how  he  had  been 
most  apt  to  mention  her. 

"  My  mother  died  twenty-six  years  ago  to-day,  Serena." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  home  and  tell  Peace  Polly  that  ?  " 
Serena  asked,  quickly. 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  asked  the  man,  with  the  ingenuousness 
of  a  boy.  "  I  've  just  been  twitting  her  about  my  moth 
er's  mending-basket.  I  don't  mean  to  be  ugly,  Serena, 
but  she  bristles  up  so  easy,  it  leads  me  on ;  and  then  — 
well,  she  don't  always  toe  the  mark  exactly,  in  the  good 
old  times-ey  way.  She  was  n't  much  to  blame  this  time, 
though.  I  suppose  I  might  have  let  her  alone,  only  I  was 
bothered." 

"  And  when  a  man  is  bothered,  he  must  turn  round  and 
bother  somebody  else  ?  "  Serena  asked  him. 


172  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Well,  he  's  apt  to,"  acknowledged  Lyman.  <;  Things 
get  passed  round,  in  this  wgrld." 

"  The  trouble  is  they  don't  get  passed  round  whole," 
Serena  said  to  that.  "  If  all  that  was  in  our  minds  and  all 
that  was  in  theirs  " —  Serena  let  her  grammar  take  care  of 
itself  in  her  earnestness  after  the  thought  —  "  was  clear 
and  plain  both  ways,  folks  could  n't  differ  as  they  do." 

"  I  don't  see  but  they  'd  be  pretty  much  run  together 
into  one,  in  that  case." 

"  Yes,  they  would.  That 's  what 's  to  come.  '  That  they, 
Father,  may  be  one.*  Lyman,  we  don't  give  each  other 
but  the  merest  little  piece,  the  crustiest  little  corner,  where 
we  ought  to  give  the  whole  fair  slice.  Go  right  home 
and  tell  Peace  Polly  what  you  've  been  telling  me.  She  '11 
know  a  bit  about  you,  then  ;  it 's  time." 

"  Good  night,  then,"  said  Lyman,  laughing  a  little,  and 
looking  happy.  "  It 's  well  for  a  man  to  have  a  conscience 
outside  of  him,  —  if  he  could  only  be  plumb  sure  of  it 's 
being  alongside  when  he  wanted  it !  "  Serena  did  not 
pretend  not  to  understand. 

"  I  'd  be  a  pretty  poor  dependence  for  a  conscience, 
Lyman,  beyond  myself ;  but  I  'm  right  here  alongside, 
any  way,  and  you  know  I  take  an  interest,  always." 

Polly  had  her  cry  out ;  she  had  nobody  to  go  to,  or 
thought  so.  Then  she  bathed  her  eyes  and  smoothed  her 
hair,  and  went  down -stairs  again.  It  was  not  a  partic 
ularly  pleasant  thing  to  do,  but  it  was  one  of  those  things 
that  in  the  vicissitudes  of  human  history  have  often  to  be 
done.  If  we  could  throw  ourselves  away,  like  broken  china, 
every  time  we  think  we  have  spoiled  ourselves  and  all  our 
story,  the  backyards  of  creation  would  be  full  of  the  pitiful 
flinders  of  us.  We  can't  do  that ;  and  it  is  n't  done  for 
us  ;  not  even  when  we  crumble  down  into  the  grave,  I  do 


HONESTY-PLANT.  173 

believe.  At  any  rate,  in  this  life  we  have  to  keep  on  among 
our  fellows,  with  all  our  cracks  and  flaws  and  rim-nips 
turned  inside,  perhaps,  as  well  as  we  can  manage  or  fel 
low-kindliness  can  wink  at,  but  there,  all  the  same,  every 
one,  and  open  to  remembrance  if  not  to  instant  inspection. 

It  had  come  now  ;  Dr.  Fuller  could  be  under  no  further 
hallucination  about  her  ;  he  had  seen  her  in  the  old  gown 
that  had  seemed  to  have  got  worn  out  and  to  be  done 
with ;  he  need  not  think  of  her  at  her  company  best  any 
more.  She  did  not  find  herself  very  much  more  comfort 
able  for  that,  however.  Was  it  the  same  thing  that  had 
happened  to  Cinderella  in  the  fairy  tale  ?  Was  that  what 
she  had  run  away  and  sat  down  again  in  the  ashes  for  ? 

It  was  when  she  came  down  in  this  mood  that  she  met 
Mr.  Innesley,  just  come  in. 

Of  course  she  greeted  him  courteously ;  it  seemed  to 
her  that  at  this  hypocrisy  of  amiability  Dr.  Fuller,  the  en 
lightened,  sitting  by,  must  instantly  cry  out.  Instead  of 
that,  he  told  them  both,  in  a  manner  just  as  usual,  that  he 
had  some  very  good  specimens  of  bacteria  to  show  them. 

Peace  Polly  turned  her  eyes,  yet  cloudy  with  their  re 
cent  tempest,  straight  upon  him,  almost  reproachfully. 

"  Don't  you  think  there  have  been  almost  specimens 
enough  for  to-day  ?  "  she  asked  him,  with  a  cold  gravity. 
For  the  pride  and  dignity  of  her  manner,  it  might  have 
been  he,  and  not  herself,  to  whom  she  was  administering 
the  haughty  little  rebuke. 

"  I  think  we  have  not  had  enough,  or  of  the  right  sort, 
to  draw  conclusions  from.  Though  I  suspect  you  have 
been  willing  some  very  one-sided  ones  should  be  made." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  conclude  that  anything  is  different 
from  what  it  really  is,"  returned  Peace  Polly,  still  calm 
and  lofty. 

"  And  so  —  ?  Miss  Peace,  there  is  a  little  plant  called 
Honesty  which  is  very  lovely  to  examine." 


174  BONNYBOROUGH 

"  Under  the  microscope  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  also ;  but  it  does  not  need  a  microscope. 
It  has  a  wonderful  delicate  transparency.  It  is  one  of 
the  Cruciferce,  the  cross-bearers." 

"  Does  it  explode  ?  "  asked  Peace  Polly,  scornfully. 

She  was  not  going  to  forgive  herself,  or  accept  the  con 
solation  of  a  flattering  comparison. 

But  she  wondered  within  herself  if  her  new  friend 
really  did  see  so  far  into  her  as  that :  that  she  had  let 
herself  be  horrid  chiefly  because  he  had  been  there,  and 
because  she  had  let  Lyman  seem  as  horrid  as  he  would. 

At  this  moment  Lyman  came  back.  He  greeted  the 
young  clergyman,  who  moved  to  meet  him.  Peace  Polly 
was  standing  just  beside  the  open  door  as  he  passed  in. 
She  slipped  out  upon  the  porch. 

Dr.  Fuller  joined  her,  quietly. 

"  Would  you  like  it  better  that  I  should  say  all  I  might  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  don't  want  you  to  conclude  any  half  truth 
from  me." 

"  Say  on,"  said  Peace  Polly.     "  I  shall  feel  better." 

"  Then,  you  were  angry ;  but  anybody  might  be  that. 
It  cannot  always  be  helped,  at  the  moment.  But  we  ought 
to  be  careful  to  hinder  ourselves  from  the  thing  that  is 
worse,  —  contempt." 

That  was  being  very  true,  indeed ! 

He  did  not  say  she  had  been  guilty  of  it ;  he  only  told 
her  of  the  thing  that  might  be  worse. 

The  three  condemnations  ran  swiftly  through  her  mind. 

To  be  angry  with  the  brother  without  a  cause  ;  to  say 
unto  the  brother,  Raca ;  to  say,  Thou  fool !  The  judgment, 
the  council,  hell-fire  ! 

Did  he  mean  all  that  ?  And  he  had  talked  to  her  of 
the  honesty-plant !  There  was  something  like  a  horror  in 
the  girl's  eyes  as  they  met  his,  that  made  him  hasty  to 


HONESTY-PLANT.  175 

say,  —  and  he  laid  a  quick,  gentle  touch  upon  her  arm, 
but  withdrew  it  as  quickly,  — 

"  Understand  me.  When  we  are  most  anxious  to  find 
all  we  want,  most  troubled  that  we  seem  to  miss  of  it,  — 
then  we  must  take  care  that  we  look  for  what  there  is, 
although  it  should  turn  out  to  be  something  different.  It 
would  be  worse  to  miss  of  that.  It  is  the  narrow  demand 
for  just  one  sort  of  admirableness  that  betrays  us  into  dis 
dain." 

Peace  Polly  drew  the  breath  that  had  been  arrested. 

"  Anxious,"  and  "  troubled,"  —  because  she  wanted, 
and  missed.  That  was  the  fairer  understanding  of  her, 
she  truly  felt.  She  thanked  him  in  her  heart  for  so 
reading  her.  No,  God's  goodness  forbid,  she  did  not  de 
spise  her  brother  yet ! 

"  I  don't  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  I  expect  any 
particular  sort  of  admirableness,  in  myself  or  anybody 
else ;  but  what  I  never  can  have  patience  with  is  small- 
ness.  It  hurts  me.  Little  vexes  are  a  great  deal  worse, 
I  think,  in  people,  or  in  things,  than  big  tribulations.  I 
could  put  up  with  a  real,  worth-while  injury,  or  bear  a 
loss,  —  of  a  possession,  I  mean  ;  but  to  be  blamed  or  mis 
understood  about  a  trifle,  or  to  miss  my  thimble  just 
when  I  want  to  sew  a  glove-finger,  —  Dr.  Fuller,  those  are 
the  terrible  things !  "  And  there  she  laughed,  slightly, 
shortly.  She  forgot  what  her  illustration  argued  of  com 
mon  human  frailty  and  excuse  ;  or  to  apply  it  to  men,  and 
their  lost  lead -pencils.  The  thing  she  felt  and  meant 
was,  that  she  could  not  bear  a  smallness  in  a  man  ;  in  Ly- 
man,  her  brother. 

Dr.  Fuller  might  have  perceived  his  opportunity ;  if  he 
did,  he  did  not  use  it. 

"  You  are  ready  for  the  battle,  but  you  cannot  stand 
the  drill  ?  "  he  said,  putting  the  question  with  a  smile. 


176  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Peace  Polly  threw  up  her  face  with  a  flash  in  it.  "  Has 
that  kind  of  drill  anything  to  do  with  the  battle  ?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  As  a  philosopher,  I  should  say  that  no  development 
of  conquering  fitness  came  about  except  through  little 
innumerable  struggles  with  the  smallest  and  nearest  ob 
stacles  and  needs." 

He  was  very  careful  to  be  philosophical ! 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  it  is  set,  that  it  is  meant  so  ?  " 
asked  Peace  Polly. 

"  I  see  it  so,"  answered  the  scientist ;  "  all  the  way  up. 
What  intent  there  may  be  runs  all  through." 

It  sounded  a  cold  way  of  saying  it.  Did  this  man  be 
lieve,  or  only  see  ?  Peace  Polly  wondered.  Yet  some 
how  the  word  shot  straighter  home  for  its  feather-tip  of 
natural  fact  than  if  it  had  been  weighted  with  a  solemn, 
inherited  assertion. 

Did  he  lead  her  up  with  the  thing  he  saw,  toward  the 
thing  it  fitted  to,  that  she  had  been  taught  long  before  ? 

"  What  intent  there  may  be  runs  all  through."  If  God 
meant  anything  for  her  at  the  last,  He  was  surely  meaning 
a  way  to  it  through  these  beginnings.  They  were  as  pot 
hooks  and  trammels,  that  should  join  by  and  by  in  letter 
ing,  to  form  his  word,  his  sentence,  of  her  creation.  Was 
that  it  ?  Something  like  that  gleamed  in  upon  her  mind. 

At  any  rate,  Dr.  Fuller  had  led  her  away  from  that 
which  was  unbearable  to  think  of  to  something  which  had 
a  hope  in  it. 

And  then  he  said,  "  But  you  do  not  do  yourself  justice 
about  the  small  things.  The  small  things  of  the  mi 
croscope  "  — 

"  Oh,  those  are  grand !  "  cried  Peace  Polly.  "  That 
they  should  be  so  far  down  out  of  sight,  and  yet  have 
such  life  in  them !  That  is  their  glory  !  " 


HONESTY-PLANT.  177 

"  Q.  E.  D.,"  said  Dr.  FuUer,  quietly.  "  Come  in  now, 
and  let  me  show  you  the  bacteria." 

Polly  had  not  meant  to  let  herself  have  any  pleasure 
like  that,  to-night.  She  was  too  out  of  order  to  look  in 
peace  down  into  that  wonder  of  order  ;  to  stand  before  that 
depth  of  revelation.  It  was  like  an  altar  which  she  might 
not,  unshriven,  profane. 

Now,  it  was  as  if  some  voice  had  offered  absolution. 

But  then  there  came  another  utterance  to  her  from 
within. 

She  looked  up,  with  a  gentle  humbleness  in  her  face 
that  she  knew  not  of.  "  Presently,"  she  said.  "  I  must 
go  first  and  speak  to  Lyman." 

"  First  be  reconciled  to  thy  brother."  It  was  not  Dr. 
Fuller  who  said  that. 

Lyman  at  the  same  moment  came  out,  looking  for  her. 

"  Pease  Porridge,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you  how  I  hap 
pened  to  be  thinking  of  my  mother.  It  is  twenty-six 
years  to-day  since  she  died.  She  was  a  young  woman, 
only  thirty ;  and  I  was  a  boy.  I  remember  her  so  well, 
and  all  her  ways." 

Just  a  simple  telling  of  himself,  as  Serena  Wyse  had 
counseled ;  no  word  of  either  apology  or  fresh  reproof. 
What  made  Lyman  so  different  all  at  once  ?  was  Peace 
Polly's  first  wondering  thought. 

And  then,  "Only  six  years  older  there  than  I  am 
here  !  "  she  said  within  herself.  "  And  only  ten  years 
more  of  this  life  behind  that  than  I  have  had  already  !  " 
Somehow  she  had  always  thought  of  Lyman's  mother  as 
an  old,  old-fashioned  woman. 

This  brought  her  near  ;  into  sudden  relation  and  pres 
ence  with  herself.  u  And  that  is  the  way  ^ou  have  been 
doing  for  my  boy  !  "  She  felt  as  if  this  were  said  to  her. 

Lyman  had  had  no  woman  to  be  tender  over  him  for 
12 


178  BONNYBOROUGH. 

such  a  long,  long  while.  If  he  had  realized  a  little  more 
that  not  a  child-sister,  but  a  woman,  had  been  growing  by 
his  side !  But  she  would  not  think  of  that  now  ;  it  had 
been  his  mistake.  What,  then,  had  been  hers  ? 

He  had  told  her  once  the  love-name  his  mother  had 
made  for  him,  when  he  was  a  little  bit  of  a  fellow.  She 
had  used  to  call  him  her  little  Mannie.  Who  had  cared 
so  for  her  grown  man,  since  ? 

Peace  Polly's  own  mother,  too :  sixteen  years  ago  she 
died ;  she  was  yet  in  her  heaven  -  girlhood,  —  younger 
than  herself  here.  What  might  these  three,  they  and  she, 
be  to  each  other  at  this  moment  ?  What  ought  they  ? 

There  rushed  into  her  mind  Mr.  Innesley's  answer  to 
her  question,  "  Who  are  the  friends  ?  "  "  AU  Saints." 

Had  she  been  earning  love  and  praise  from  these  ? 

All  these  things  followed  one  another  in  a  single  mental 
thrill,  a  single  heart-throb. 

"  Oh,  Lyman  !  "  she  turned  around  and  cried.  "  I  am 
so  sorry !  You  have  n't  anybody  but  me,  and  I  've  been 
horrid  !  " 

She  stretched  her  hands  to  him,  and  the  tears  that 
started  sounded  in  her  voice. 

Lyman  did  not  like  to  be  pathetic.  "  Well,  well !  "  he 
said,  half  impatiently,  "  we  can't  either  of  us  be  each 
other's  mother,  I  suppose  ;  but  may  be  we  can  brother 
and  sister  a  little  better.  You  must  n't  mind  all  my 
kinks  and  hard  knots.  Something  else  ties  'em  up  first, 
and  then  I  bring  'em  along  to  you.  Who  else  is  there  ?  " 

But  he  took  one  of  Peace  Polly's  hands,  and  elder- 
brotherly  walked  with  her  back  along  the  front  stoop  to 
the  open  door.  There,  in  the  light,  she  slipped  away 
from  him,  ai?d  met  Mr.  Innesley.  In  her  mind  those 
last  words  lingered,  "  Who  else  is  there  ?  " 

It  was  privilege,  then,  after  a  sort,  to  take  Lyman's 


HONESTY-PLANT.  179 

little  snubs  ;  to  be  the  only  one  for  him  to  bring  hard 
knots  to.  Well,  she  would  try  to  look  at  it  that  way, 
next  time;  and  perhaps,  after  a  while,  he  might  bring 
something  else  to  her.  She  was  glad,  at  any  rate,  of  the 
one  little  glimpse  into  Lyman's  shut-up  mind ;  and  that, 
looking  in  there,  she  had  found  such  a  sweet  and  human 
thing  as  his  long-loving  memory  of  his  mother. 

"  He  may  tell  me  of  her  mending-days,  and  her  linen- 
chest,  and  her  countings-up,  and  her  darnings,  just  as  much 
as  ever  he  likes,  after  this !  "  she  cried  inwardly  to  that 
Polly  of  her  that  the  Peace  had  such  sharp  work  to  keep 
down. 

It  was  thoroughly  and  especially  comfortable,  also,  that 
Professor  Fuller,  wise  and  friendly,  was  upon  no  possible 
false  basis  with  her  any  more,  but  had  seen  her  once  as 
bad  as  she  could  be. 

"  Now  I  can  be  as  good  as  I  have  a  mind,"  retorted 
Polly  upon  Peace. 


XX. 

ATOMS    AND    OWLS. 

IT  was  deep  in  the  gloaming  when  Serena  Wyso  came 
quietly  in  with  her  knitting-work  that  she  could  do  in  the 
dark,  and  was  there  among  them  without  an  arrival,  like 
the  shadows. 

They  were  all  in  the  big  old  hall,  sitting  around  just 
within  the  "  fore  door,"  as  she  had  said.  Mr.  Innesley 
was  beside  Peace  Polly.  When  Rebeccarabby  presently 
brought  in  the  lighted  lamp,  and  put  it  in  its  hanging 
frame,  Lyman  drew  near  the  table  under  it,  and  watched 
Dr.  Fuller,  who  began  to  arrange  his  microscope. 

Serena  could  not  tell  how  matters  might  be.  Lyman 
was  quiet,  as  always ;  Peace  Polly  spoke  easily,  but  not 
volubly,  with  the  clergyman. 

"This  is  nothing  very  beautiful,  to  unscientific  eyes, 
that  I  am  going  to  show  you  now,"  said  the  professor, 
peering  into  his  tubes,  and  delicately  touching  his  object 
with  some  minute  instrument.  "  It  is  curious,  as  one  of 
the  smallest  things  that  can  be  seen.  It  measures,  I  mean 
the  individual,  about  half  a  thousandth  of  a  millimetre." 

"  How  much  is  that  in  inches  ?  "  asked  Miss  Serena, 
simply.  "  I  mean,"  she  added,  laughing,  "  how  much  of 
an  inch  ?  " 

"  A  little  less  than  a  fifty-thousandth,"  replied  the  pro 
fessor. 

"  Why,  who  measures  them,  and  what  with  ?  "  in 
quired  Serena,  coolly  sensible,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  like 
the  Yankee  woman  that  she  was. 


ATOMS  AND   OWLS.  181 

"  Anybody  who  can  catch  and  hold  them ;  and  with 
means  proportioned  to  all  else  required  in  observing 
them.  Did  you  ever  see  the  Ten  Commandments  en 
graved  on  the  space  of  a  pin's  point  ?  I  will  show  you 
that,  presently.  That  may  exemplify.  Now,  Miss  Wyse, 
here  are  some  living  things  a  thousand  times  less  than  a 
pin's  point." 

"  How  do  you  know  they  are  alive  ?  "  she  asked  him, 
as  she  bent  to  the  instrument,  and  discerned,  among  some 
flecks  of  cloudy  film,  a  group  of  tiniest  clear  globules, 
single,  connected  in  pairs,  and  again  others  in  chains 
and  spirals,  like  strung  beads.  All  moving,  swimming 
swiftly,  spinning,  darting;  the  slender  threads  or  chains 
waving  and  creeping. 

"  By  their  motion  ;  by  their  separations  and  joinings. 
They  are  busy  with  life  ;  they  are,  or  hold,  first  atoms  of 
life ;  every  one  of  these,  at  a  certain  stage,  divides  in  two, 
those  into  two  again,  and  so  the  life  multiplies." 

"  Atoms  of  life,"  said  Miss  Serena.  "  Then  you  have 
got  at  life,  at  last  ?  " 

"  At  its  earliest  reachable  manifestations,"  replied  the 
professor.  "  These  cells  are  not  life ;  but  life  is  in 
them." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Miss  Serena.  "  Then  you  are  not  one  of 
those  wise  men  whose  Bible  begins  *  In  the  beginning  the 
atoms  made  heaven  and  earth '  ?  " 

Dr.  Fuller  looked  up  at  her.  «  What  is  a  Bible  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  A  book  of  truth,"  answered  Serena. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  Bible  does  begin  with  the  atoms," 
said  the  doctor.  "They  are  the  smallest  elementary 
parts  that  I  can  spell.  Doubtless  there  are  other  Bibles. 
The  Bible  should  include  all  the  rest." 

Who  could  tell,  from  this  man's  word  or  manner, 
where  or  on  what  his  faith  stood  fast,  or  stopped  ? 


182  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Mr.  Innesley  regarded  him  attentively.  "  How  would 
a  book  of  Genesis  go  on  that  should  begin  as  Miss  Se 
rena  has  quoted  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Suppose  Miss  Serena  should  go  on  and  try  ?  "  said 
Dr.  FuUer. 

Serena  looked  at  the  two,  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Are 
you  in  earnest  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why  not  ?  I  have  never  framed  a  chapter  of  crea 
tion.  Let  us  see  whether  it  would  go  on." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  have  to  say,"  said  Miss  Serena, 
slowly,  "  '  In  the  beginning  the  atoms  made  the  heavens 
and  the  earth.'  " 

"  'The  earth  was  without  form  and  void  ;  and  the  atoms 
moved  about  in  it.'  " 

"  '  And  the  atoms  wanted  light ;  and  they  moved  more 
and  more,  and  rubbed  against  each  otl^er,  and  there  was 
light.'  Oh,  what  have  I  said !  What  am  I  coming  to  ?  " 
cried  Miss  Serena,  in  sudden  consternation. 

"Go  on,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  gravely.  "That  is  just 
what  would  have  to  follow  from  the  beginning.  What 
would  be  next  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Fuller !  there  was  nothing  but  the  atoms ; 
there  was  nobody  there  to  see  that  it  was  good  !  The 
Bible  would  have  to  stop  right  there  !  Every  verse  after 
that  begins  'and  God  saw,'  'and  God  called,'  'and  God 
said  !  '  You  can't  have  any  Bible  without  God  in  it !  " 

Dr.  Fuller  smiled,  and  said  not  a  word.  He  turned  to 
his  instrument,  and  began  to  work  carefully  at  it  again. 

Peace  Polly  and  the  Others  had  forgotten,  in  listening 
to  the  strange  talk  over  them,  to  look  at  these  first  bacte 
ria  at  all.  The  professor  had  now  placed  a  small  drop  of 
another  sort  upon  his  object-class. 

"This,"  he  said,  is  larger,  and  of  a  slightly  higher 
order  of  development.  The  others  were  of  the  dividing 


ATOMS  AND   OWLS.  183 

order ;  they  grow  by  cutting  themselves  in  two.  In 
these,  we  come  to  the  budding  process  ;  they  are  more 
like  true  plants  in  that.  One  cell  grows  out  upon  an 
other,  and  so  they  heap  themselves  in  masses.  This  is 
the  way  your  yeast  makes  itself.  This  is  a  drop  of  yeast, 
Miss  Peace,  that  I  begged  out  of  your  kitchen.  Your 
help-woman  there  was  very  rebellious  at  my  taking  so  lit 
tle.  '  It  would  n't  riz  nothing,'  she  said." 

''Nothing  but  questions,  I  suppose,"  returned  Peace, 
obeying  the  doctor's  motion  and  crossing  to  the  table. 
"  I  should  like  to  know,"  she  said,  presently,  after  she 
had  observed  the  pretty  foam-balls  that  clustered  or 
branched,  like  bright  little  tree-boughs  or  umbels  of  flow 
ers,  in  the  speck  of  fluid,  —  "I  should  like  to  know  why 
the  different  kinds  work  exactly  opposite  ways,  turning 
their  backs  upon  each  other,  as  it  were.  It  is  like  creation 
working  up  and  down,  each  side  of  a  dividing  line." 

Dr.  Fuller  answered  her  as  concisely  and  as  strictly 
within  scientific  definition  as  was  possible  ;  watching  her, 
as  he  did  so,  much  as  if  she  were  an  object  from  which 
he  had  logically  to  expect  some  curious  or  beautiful  devel 
opment. 

"  We  have  not  come  to  the  actual  dividing  line  yet," 
he  said.  "  These  give  us  a  hint  of  higher  growth,  but 
they  are  still  mere  infusoria.  The  great  distinction  is 
between  the  unorganized  and  the  organized  vegetations ; 
those  which  live  upon  organisms  by  their  decomposition 
and  those  which  organize  themselves  by  appropriating 
from  inorganic  substances." 

Peace  Polly  followed  him  with  keen  attention. 

"  Is  it  all  a  battle,  then  ?  "  she  said  quickly.  "  Are 
there  really  reverse  orders  of  life-atoms?  Is  it  life  of 
death,  and  life  of  life  ?  "  she  finished  earnestly. 

"  It  is  the  equilibrium  in  which  the  globe  exists.      Life 


184  BONNYBOROUGH. 

would  be  impossible  upon  it,  if  it  were  not  for  the  de 
stroyers." 

"  And  they  never  can  take  their  turn  at  anything 
else!"  said  Peace  Polly,  turning  away  from  the  micro 
scope.  "  It  is  the  same  old  puzzle." 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  development  theory,  your 
evolution,"  said  Mr.  Innesley,  following  Peace  Polly's  lead, 
and  coming  into  the  discussion  as  somehow  on  her  side. 

"  Is  it  mine  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Fuller. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  should  be  glad  to.  I  think  you 
told  us  that  it  was  'kingdom  beside  kingdom,'  irrevoca 
bly  ;  that  by  no  means  these  beginnings  ever  grew  to  the 
higher  forms  ;  that  a  bacterium  never  works  up,  itself,  it 
only  makes  the  way,  toward  the  rose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  does.  It  fulfills  its  office  right 
here.  So  far,  it  is  in  the  preparing  of  conditions,  the 
keeping  of  equilibriums,  as  I  just  remarked." 

"  And  there  is  nothing  among  all  these  lives  to  indicate 
that  any  life  can  be  different,  can  go  on  farther  than  to 
some  such  blind  end  ?  " 

«  Nothing." 

"  Then  where  is  the  evolution  ?  " 

"  In  each  species,  I  suppose,  toward  its  perfection." 

"  By  '  selection,'  and  by  mastery  ?  " 

"  It  looks  so." 

"  You  see,  then,  a  certain  assurance  beyond  the  pres 
ent,  in  all  creations  ?  " 

"  I  see  just  one  thing :  that  every  kind  of  creature  gets 
all  that  it  is  made  capable,  by  any  patient  continuance,  of 
seeking  for." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  minister,  quickly,  with  drawn  breath. 
"  '  Glory,  honor,  immortality,  eternal  life.'  You  mean 
that !  " 

"  I  may  at  least  remember  that  men  have  become,  or 


ATOMS  AND  OWLS.  185 

been  made,  as  you  choose  to  put  it,  capable  of  desiring, 
of  living  for,  that." 

"  And  of  asking  to  be  '  lifted  up  forever,'  "  put  in 
Peace  Polly,  softly. 

The  professor  glanced  kindly  at  her. 

"  I  can  think  of  no  better  use  to  put  life  to  than  such 
hope  and  effort,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  can  conceive  of  no  pur 
pose  for  it  which  can  be  carried  out  without  such  desire 
and  self-urging.  If  we  are  to  be  immortal,  it  must  come, 
at  least  on  our  part,  in  that  way." 

"  '  Work  out  your  own  salvation,'  "  quoted  the  clergy 
man.  "  Yes." 

Miss  Serena  wondered  that  he  stopped  there.  It  was 
really  simply  because  the  professor's  enunciation  brought 
to  mind  as  identical  with  it  the  saying  of  St.  Paul.  And 
at  this  moment  Mr.  Innesley  himself  was  looking,  or  en 
deavoring  to  look,  merely  from  the  science  side. 

Miss  Serena  could  not  help  finishing.  "  '  Knowing,'  " 
she  repeated,  very  quietly,  but  with  clear  emphasis,  " '  that 
it  is  God  who  worketh  in  you  to  will  and  to  do  according 
to  his  good  pleasured  " 

Dr.  Fuller  was  either  disinclined  to  pursue  the  topic 
further,  or  he  thought  it  rested  well  with  that  word.  Per 
haps  it  was  only  that  he  noted,  being  in  the  habit  of 
noting  everything,  that  Lyman  had  been  silent,  and  as  it 
were  alone  among  them  all,  for  some  little  time.  He  left 
his  table,  and  came  round  to  where  Lyman  had  partly 
withdrawn  himself,  into  the  shadowed  angle  by  the  house 
door. 

"  You  have  taken  that  contract  at  East  Bend  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  Lyman  answered.  "  It  is  a  heavy  job,  and  a 
nice  one."  He  spoke  as  if  the  matter  were  already  occu 
pying  his  mind,  and  a  little  anxiously. 


186  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  A  good  deal  of  that  fine  antique  moulding  ?  "  asked 
the  professor,  again.  "  The  close-grooved  and  crenelated 
cornicing  that  you  showed  me  ?  " 

"Yes.  All  in  expensive  lumber,  too.  I  don't  quite 
know  whether  I  have  n't  taken  it  too  low." 

"  I  hope  not." 

"I  don't  think  1  can  lose.  But  I  mayn't  make  as 
good  a  concern  of  it  as  I  ought  to.  There  's  a  lot  of  nice 
panel  work,  and  mitering,  besides ;  and  the  frames  and 
arches  are  in  special  sizes  and  measurements.  Every 
thing  is  odd  and  special,  I  think,  these  days.  You  want 
new  machinery,  or  at  least  everything  new-set,  for  every 
separate  job." 

"  And  very  skilled  workmen,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes.  The  skilled  workmen,  or  the  skilled  overseer, 
is  the  very  mischief !  " 

"  Your  man,  Morgan,  seems  very  capable." 

"  He 's  too  capable.  I  don't  like  the  fellow,  and  I 
can't  do  without  him ;  not  yet  awhile." 

"  Ah  !  "  The  monosyllable  was  all  the  professor  could 
have  to  say  to  that.  The  two  gentlemen  were  now  alone. 
The  others  had  gone  out  at  the  cliff-side,  to  drink  the  cool 
water  of  the  spring  from  a  shell  which  Peace  Polly  had 
had  hung  to  the  rock  by  a  long,  light  chain. 

Presently  Lyman  said  again,  "  I  like  a  man  to  be 
shrewd  and  wide  awake.^  Morgan  knows  that,  and  he 
thinks  that 's  pretty  near  all,  with  me.  He  only  knows 
one  side  of  me.  It  takes  something  of  a  sameness  to 
make  an  understanding.  Morgan  's  cunning,  and  I  don't 
want  that.  He  makes  a  slippery  suggestion  now  and 
again.  He  'd  like  to  get  a  share  in  the  business,  but  he 
works  the  wrong  way  for  it.  He  's  got  a  little  capital 
that  he  could  put  in,  if  I  needed  it,  but  he  's  too  sharp." 

It  seemed  to  relieve  Lyman  to  say  these  things  to  some- 


ATOMS  AND  OWLS.  187 

body  outside,  who  could  have  no  relation  to  the  things 
themselves. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  "  that  a  good  part 
ner  might  be  a  good  thing  for  you.  You  have  too  much 
to  carry,  all  in  your  own  mind." 

"  I  presume  likely,"  returned  Lyman,  in  his  New  Eng 
land  fashion  of  speech.  "  But  somehow  I  don't  seem 
made  for  other  folks,  in  anything.  I  guess  I  shall  have 
to  work  it  out  on  my  own  hook,  to  the  end  of  the  chap 
ter." 

Dr.  Fuller  did  not  reply  to  that,  at  once,  or  directly. 
When  he  spoke,  he  said :  — 

"  Meanwhile,  you  are  not  afraid  of  any  of  your  own  in 
terests  in  this  man  Morgan's  hands  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  And  yet  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  the 
fellow  had  two  strings  to  his  bow,  and  wouldn't  much 
mind  which  he  pulled,  as  soon  as  he  could  clearly  calcu 
late  his  chances.  I  don't  know,"  he  added  slowly,  —  "it 
ain't  easy  to  come  at  in  our  mixed  business,  —  but  I  have 
wondered,  a  few  times,  whether  or  no  he  hadn't  been 
overshipping,  to  some  people  of  his  own  we  deal  with." 

At  this  moment  the  three  came  in  again  at  the  farther 
door. 

Mr.  Innesley  walked  forward  to  the  two  gentlemen, 
who  pushed  their  chairs  a  little  apart,  and  faced  them 
selves  differently,  so  as  to  include  in  their  group  a  third 
seat,  which  offered  itself  naturally  to  the  visitor. 

The  latter  could  but  take  it,  with  some  casual  remark. 
The  two  women  lingered  together.  Seeing  all  well  dis 
posed  for  the  moment,  Peace  Polly  drew  Serena  suddenly 
by  the  arm.  "  Come  back,"  she  said,  "  down  the  garden. 
I  want  to  get  some  cardinal  flowers  by  the  brook,  and  to 
see  the  little  screech-owls." 

"  And  leave  Mr.  Innesley  ?  "  Miss  Serena  whispered, 
in  her  old-fashioned  politeness. 


188  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Oh,  he  won't  go  till  ten  o'clock.  He  '11  be  looking  at 
spores  again,  or  arguing  about  them.  I  want  you.  He 
comes  to  see  Dr.  Fuller." 

Miss  Serena  doubted,  but  went. 

The  way  led  down  beneath  the  cliff  front  across  the 
garden  space  and  orchard,  into  the  edge  of  a  strip  of 
brook-meadow  at  the  west  side.  Here  the  quick,  narrow 
watercourse  rushed  down  toward  the  road,  and  crossed  it 
underneath  a  little  bridge,  all  but  washing,  on  its  way,  the 
feet  of  the  old  twisted  apple-trees. 

It  was  pleasant  in  the  rising  moonlight  that  glimmered 
down  through  the  boughs  and  touched  the  tops  of  the  leaps 
and  ripples  of  running  water.  There  was  the  smell  of  damp, 
sweet  growths,  and  of  the  green,  grassy,  fruity  orchard. 

The  elder  -  blooms,  lingering  in  these  shady  places, 
poured  their  rich  scent  also  into  the  wide-mingled  summer 
night-breath  of  the  earth. 

An  evening  bird  broke  forth  with  a  late,  clear  song. 

Then  all  was  still  again,  and  then  came  the  cry  of  a 
bittern  from  the  river-swamps  low  down  toward  the  sea. 
The  wailing  hoot  of  the  owl  had  not  yet  sounded :  that 
strange,  pathetic  outcry,  contrasting  with  happy  bird-notes 
of  the  fairer- feathered  creatures ;  that  lament  which  some 
body  has  translated  "  oh-o-o-o-o,  that  I  never  had  been 
bo-o-o-o-rn  !  "  but  which  may  only  be,  as  Peace  Polly 
understood  it,  "  *  oh-o-oh  who-o-o-o  would  ever  want  to  be 
an  ow-ow-ow-ow-owl ! " 

When  Peace  Polly  was  cheerful  and  content,  —  and  at 
twenty,  such  whens  must  be  in  the  larger  proportion  of 
life,  after  all,  —  she  delighted  in  the  brookside  orchard  din 
gle,  in  the  daytime  :  then  the  quail  ran  whistling  through 
the  corn  a  little  way  off,  and  the  killdeer  called  out  of 
the  clover ;  humming-birds  flashed  among  the  old  boughs, 
and  up  on  the  oak  knolls  the  woodpecker  tapped  and 


ATOMS  AND   OWLS.  189 

chuckled,  while  every  now  and  then  all  other  notes  were 
silenced  to  make  way  for  the  delicious  solo  warble  of  a 
brown  thrasher  in  the  wood-edge. 

Flower  and  bird  life  rioted  together  in  this  gracious 
nook,  where  upland,  meadow,  and  sedge,  cool  waters  and 
sunshine,  woodland  and  pasture-opens,  all  lay  so  near, 
and  so  mingled  and  lapsed  one  into  another.  Violets  and 
wild  roses  followed  each  other,  the  white  dazzle  of  the 
arrowhead  and  the  red  blaze  of  the  cardinal  proclaimed 
the  midsummer,  and  golden-rod  and  aster  and  the  scarlet 
lances  of  the  sumach  brought  up  the  royal  pageant  of  the 
autumn  crowning  of  the  year. 

But  when  her  day  had  in  any  sort  been  a  hard  one, 
or  life  and  the  world  looked  especially  mysterious,  and 
put  strange,  contradictory  questions  to  her;  when  her 
"screech-owl"  feeling  and  mood  came  uppermost,  and 
she  half  wanted  to  cry  out,  "  O-o-o-oh  !  would  n't  I  like  to 
be  somebody  else  if  I  co-ou-ou-ou-ld !  "  then  she  would 
wander  down  in  the  late  twilight,  and  lose  herself  in  the 
soft  glooms,  and  hear  the  night-rush  of  the  water,  and  the 
night-voices  of  all  waking  creatures,  and  feel  that  she  had 
got  away  into  the  edge  of  some  different  existence,  into 
some  little  other-world  of  her  very,  single,  secret  own,  in 
which  she  could  moan  or  be  soothed,  as  it  pleased  her. 

In  truth,  it  was  Peace  Polly's  very  own ;  the  world  of 
her  discovery  and  occupation.  She  alone,  except  Miss 
Serena,  whom  she  sometimes,  as  now,  brought  with  her, 
knew  its  loveliness  of  life  and  growth,  and  felt,  away  into 
her  heart,  the  rare  pulses  of  its  scents  and  sounds.  To 
the  farm  people  it  was  only  the  brook-hollow,  in  which  they 
seldom  had  anything  to  do ;  to  the  few  strangers  who  had 
ever  strolled  there,  it  was  but  a  pretty  bit  of  a  long  walk 
across  from  the  village  to  Squarrock  Fall,  which,  fortu 
nately  for  Polly,  was  out  of  distance  for  any  ordinary  pe- 


190  BONNYBOROUGH. 

destrians,  and  was  commonly  visited  by  wagon  parties  tak 
ing  the  road  around  by  the  Long  Ledges. 

"  You  can't  see  the  cardinal  flowers,"  said  Serena,  as 
they  came  down  into  the  shadows. 

"  If  I  could  n't  I  could  find  them.  I  know  just  where 
they  are  ;  and  the  spikes  will  show  fast  enough  against  the 
white  sheets  of  arrowhead.  I  want  some  to-night." 

They  kept  on  upon  the  dry  slope  of  the  orchard,  skirt 
ing  the  brook  edge  and  its  wet,  spreading  border. 

"  There  !  "  said  Peace  Polly,  pointing.  Above  the  small 
grasses  of  the  sedgy  hussocks,  shooting  from  among  the 
shimmering  patches  of  the  sagittaria,  were  the  tall,  lithe 
stems  and  flower-tips  of  the  cardinal,  that  in  bright  light 
would  burn  with  vivid  color  like  spears  of  flame.  "  There 
they  are  for  the  picking.  They  can  wait.  I  want  to  talk 
a  little  with  you,  Serena." 

They  had  come  far  toward  the  end  of  the  orchard,  — 
almost  to  the  low,  old  wall  that  divided  it  from  the  wide 
turf-side  of  the  country  road,  but  broke  off  at  each  margin 
of  the  brook  toward  which  the  turf -way  sloped,  cut  by  the 
tracks  of  wheels  where  people  drove  their  tired  teams 
through  the  water. 

"  Here  's  the  dear  old  saddle-horse  !  "  cried  Polly,  stop 
ping  at  a  bent  apple-tree  which  a  lifetime  ago  had  taken 
that  curious  horizontal  creep  in  mid -growth,  which  is 
the  delight  of  rustic  little  folk,  and  of  tender  association 
often  with  the  trysting  times  of  their  later  years. 

"  You  've  lifted  me  up  on  this,  Serena,  when  I  could  n't 
jump  to  it  myself.  When  you  were  the  good,  big  girl,  so 
kind  to  the  little  fractious  one.  I  come  here  with  my  frac- 
tiousness  now  by  myself.  I  've  saddled  many  a  bother  on 
the  rough  pony -back,  and  ridden  off  many  a  cross  fit  under 
the  cool  old  branches." 

The  two  women  sat  down  on  the  tree-trunk  together. 


ATOMS  AND  OWLS.  191 

There  was  no  need  for  a  jump  now.     Peace  Polly  won 
dered  if  it  had  really  always  been  as  near  the  ground. 

The  little  screech-owl  uttered  its  long-drawn,  melancholy 
whoop. 

"0-o-o-oh,  who-o-o-o  made  me  to  be  nothing  but  an 
ow-ow-ow-ow-owl  ?  " 

"  Oh,  who  did  ?  "  cried  Polly. 

"  Why,  the  little  screech-owl,"  answered  Serena,  not  at 
all  understanding  her. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  supposed,  and  that  is  the  worst 
of  it,"  returned  Peace  Polly.  "  And  yet  the  owl  would 
like,  I  dare  say,  to  be  a  yellow  warbler  or  a  bobolink." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Serena,  as  she  often  had 
to  ask  Peace  Polly. 

"  The  screech-owl  wants  to  know  *  who-o  made  her  to  be 
nothing  but  an  o-owl ' !  "  said  Peace  Polly,  with  ludicrous 
imitation.  Serena  laughed. 

"I  don't  believe  she  knows  a  bit  of  difference,"  she 
said. 

"Then  what  is  that  how-ow-owl  for?"  asked  Peace 
Polly,  when  the  long,  weird  note  had  just  been  repeated. 

"  For  us,  may  be.  We  can  feel  the  voices  ;  the  birds 
can  only  make  them.  Polly,  there  is  just  exactly  this  dif 
ference.  The  Lord  has  got  us  where  He  can  speak  to  us 
and  tell  us  things,  —  of  ourselves  and  Him.  We  are  not 
apes,  nor  owls,  nor  spores,  any  more,  whatever  we  have 
been.  And  He  says  to  us,  '  Fear  not,  little  flock ;  it  is 
your  Father's  good  pleasure  '  —  that  very  good  pleasure, 
according  to  which  He  makes  us  to  will  and  do  —  *  to  give 
you  the  kingdom.'  The  whole  of  it !  *  All  things  that  the 
Father  hath  are  mine ;  therefore  I  said,  He  shall  take  of 
mine,  and  shall  show  it  unto  you.' " 

I  think  Mr.  Richard  Innesley  may  be  pardoned  for  what 
I  am  about  to  tell  of  him.  At  this  moment  he  had  reached 


192  BONNYBOROUGH. 

the  low  wall  of  the  orchard,  which  he  had  crossed  by  an 
upper  path  from  the  front  that  struck  the  road  at  a  point 
but  little  further  back  than  the  brookside  footway,  near 
whose  end  Serena  and  Peace  Polly  were  sitting. 

He  had  been  something  discomfited  by  their  sudden 
disappearance,  and  conversation  had  not  sprung  up  with 
much  ready  purpose  between  the  three  men  thus  left  to 
themselves  with  a  preceding  talk  interrupted.  Rebecca- 
rabby  had  crossed  the  rear  of  the  hall  on  some  vigorous 
errand  to  pantry  or  store-room,  and  Lyman  had  turned 
and  asked  where  his  sister  was. 

"  I  see  her  V  Miss  S'reeny  go  off  down  the  otchard, 
whatever  't  was  f er.  'T  wa'n't  Bald'in  apples,  ner  Roxb'ry 
russets ;  that 's  all  I  know." 

And  then  Mr.  Innesley  had  bethought  himself  of  some 
sermon-writing,  and  had  taken  leave  —  by  an  orchard  path 
also. 

The  close  lap  and  gurgle  of  the  water  and  the  second 
cry  of  the  owl  had  covered  his  approaching  steps,  almost 
noiseless,  any  way,  from  the  attention  of  the  women.  He 
had  reached  the  little  breakdown  in  the  wall  that  had  been 
made  for  crossing,  and  had  paused  there,  catching  the 
shine  of  white  garments  under  the  old  apple-tree,  just  in 
time  to  hear  Miss  Serena's  words  spoken  in  her  clear, 
calm  voice.  When  the  preacher  was  so  preached  to,  who 
can  blame  him  severely  for  stopping  to  hear  more  ? 

Richard  Innesley  sat  deliberately  down  in  the  chasm  of 
the  old  wall  and  listened. 

"  But  the  between-places,"  said  Peace  Polly,  "  that  no 
creature  can  skip  over  to  become  the  next  ?  Are  n't  there 
just  such  between-places  for  us?  and  shall  we  ever  get 
over  them  ?  I  shall  never  be  you,  Serena." 

"  Nor  I  any  saint,  or  different  sinner,  that  ever  lived. 
We  shall  each  be  our  particular  own  selves.  God  has 


ATOMS  AND   OWLS.  193 

1  called  us  by  our  name,'  but  we  shall  live  our  whole 
names  out ;  we  shall  be  what  you  said,  —  '  lifted  up  for 
ever.'  " 

"  I  suppose  there  might  be  a  glorified  owl,  even,"  said 
Peace  Polly.  "And  that  it  might  be  a  majestic  crea 
ture,  —  when  its  howl  gets  answered,  and  it  learns  a  new 
song." 

"  Ah,  the  '  new  song '  !  It 's  all  saved  up  to  come  out 
in  that,"  Serena  said,  joyfully.  "And  in  the  between- 
places,"  she  went  on,  following  her  first  thought,  "  it  must 
always  be  as  it  was  in  the  beginning.  God  was  there,  all 
the  way  through,  seeing  that  it  was  good." 

"  Between  the  evenings  and  the  mornings,"  thought  the 
audience  by  the  wall.  "  We  are  always  in  the  evening  of 
some  day,  perhaps,  beyond  which  the  morning  of  the  next 
is  waiting." 

Peace  Polly  was  struck  with  a  new  idea.  "  See  here," 
said  she.  "  Somebody  says  that  man  is  a  microcosm,  —  a 
little  world.  Don't  you  believe  we  Ve  got  the  whole  his 
tory  in  us,  somehow  ?  —  cells  and  spores,  and  ferns  and 
roses,  and  bats  and  owls,  birds  of  prey  and  singing-birds, 
wild  beasts  and  gentle  ones,  and  little  children  and  grown 
souls? "  Polly  ran  on  rapidly  with  her  words,  as  her  own 
thought  climbed  in  an  instant  the  scale  of  creation. 

"  Something  of  all  is  in  us,  I  do  suppose,"  said  Serena. 
"Or  else  we  should  n't  be  so  as  to  feel  the  natures  and  the 
wants,  or  hear  the  voices.  I  guess,  Polly,  it 's  all  wrapped  up 
in  one  nutshell.  We  're  in  a  world  of  choosing  and  beating, 
—  or  getting  beat.  Every  step  of  the  way  we  're  letting 
something  get  the  upper  hand,  to  be  the  biggest  part  of  us, 
whether  it 's  the  bats  and  owls,  or  the  singing-birds,  or  the 
little  children  of  us,  or  the  growing  angels.  Yes,  I  guess 
that 's  it.  In  a  certain  way,  we  're  all  of  it.  And  God 
made  us  so,  that  we  might  '  have  dominion.'  There  is  n't 
13 


194  BONNYBOROUGH. 

anything  in  the  world  that  is  n't  somehow  human,  because 
it  was  the  human  of  God  that  made  the  world.  And  then 
He  gathered  it  all  up  into  us  in  his  own  complete  image,  so 
as  we  might  learn  it,  and  rule  it  and  use  it,  as  He  does. 
Why,  that,  written  out  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last, 
is  just  Bible,  —  Genesis  and  Jew-history,  and  Gospel  and 
Revelation,  all,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Look,  Serena !  There  they  are,  the  whole  lovely  little 
family  of  them !  " 

The  moonlight  struck  through  an  open  space  full  upon 
a  dead,  bare  branch,  not  ten  feet  distant  from  them  in  their 
straight  line  of  vision  up  the  orchard  side.  Thereon  sat, 
softly  huddled,  a  group  of  gray,  fluffy-feathered  things, 
with  great  heads  and  wise,  shining  eyes.  They  were  the 
young  brood,  now  grown  and  fledged,  that  Peace  Polly 
had  known  and  watched  since  they  were  white  and 
downy. 

"  Lovely  ?  "  repeated  Serena,  surprised  at  Polly  for  the 
word. 

"Yes,  owl-lovely;  what  more  can  they  be?"  replied 
Peace  Polly,  whimsically.  "They're  beautifully  queer, 
anyhow.  I  suppose  I  should  n't  care  for  a  person,  or  a 
world,  that  had  n't  some  oddity  about  it." 

"  Oh-ho-ho !  it 's  a  brave  thing,  after  all,  to  be  an  ow- 
ow-owl  !  "  cried  the  old  bird,  far  up  overhead.  Or  so 
Polly  the  next  instant  rendered  it,  with  the  funniest  trem 
olo  upon  the  long,  last  note,  like  a  triumph  getting  the 
better  of  a  whimper. 

Mr.  Innesley  laughed  out,  and  came  quickly  forward. 
There  was  a  certain  ring  in  his  laugh  as  of  relief  from 
a  passing  perplexity,  and  the  buoyancy  of  some  freshly 
strengthened  hope ;  the  same  thing  that  had  been  in 
Peace  Polly's  owl-call,  without  its  inimitable  little  touch 
of  absurdity. 


ATOMS  AND   OWLS.  195 

"  Miss  Serena,"  he  said  then,  earnestly,  "  I  was  on  my 
way  home  to  write  my  sermon,  and  as  I  went  I  have  re 
ceived  it.  I  must  thank  you  as  the  messenger." 

"  They  are  all  messages,  Mr.  Innesley,"  answered  Se 
rena,  quietly ;  "we  can't  any  of  us  get  one  except  we 
know  the  language." 

"  Miss  Peace,"  the  young  man  began,  and  then  made  a 
second's  pause,  holding  out  his  hand  for  a  good-night,  "  I 
shall  never  hear  that  sound  again  as  a  hoot.  You  have 
turned  it  into  a  hallelujah."  Then  he  said  the  good-night, 
stepped  lightly  over  the  low  wall  to  the  roadside,  and 
went  off. 

"  Was  n't  that  a  cool  way  to  get  a  sermon  ?  "  quoth 
Peace  Polly.  But  in  her  heart  she  liked  his  honest  word, 
and  felt  in  a  nearer  fellowship  and  understanding  with 
him  than  before. 

When  Lyman  went  up  to  his  room  that  night,  he  found 
his  candle  lighted,  and  a  bunch  of  cardinal  flowers  glow 
ing  in  the  shine  of  it  on  the  table  beneath  his  mother's 
picture. 

The  next  Sunday,  —  the  eighth  after  Trinity,  it  hap 
pened,  —  Mr.  Innesley  declared  for  his  text  the  Collect 
for  the  day,  and  the  eighth  chapter  of  Romans,  from 
which  was  taken  the  Epistle. 

The  earthly  and  the  heavenly  order,  and  the  "  never- 
failing  Providence ;  "  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  crea 
ture  ;  God's  reason  and  hope  in  the  passing  subjection ; 
the  deliverance  from  the  law  and  bondage  ;  the  Sonship  ; 
the  manifestation  ;  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of 
God  ;  the  mind  of  the  Spirit,  that  helps,  and  breathes  in 
tercessions  for  us  all  through  our  limitations  and  infirmi 
ties  and  ignorance,  according  to  the  blessed  final  intent 
and  will  of  God.  The  foreknowledge,  the  calling,  the 
justification,  or  setting  right  of  all ;  the  glorification,  the 


196  BONNYBOROUGH. 

giving  of  the  one  only  Son,  and  with  Him  the  giving  of 
all  things  ;  the  love  of  Christ ;  the  conquering  in  Him ; 
the  great  Persuasion,  in  the  face  of  all  that  is,  or  has  been, 
or  may  be,  that  nothing  of  all  the  things  that  appear  or 
are,  "Neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor  principal 
ities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come, 
nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able 
to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord." 

Peace  Polly  listened,  her  whole  soul  glowing  and  rising 
with  the  theme  and  the  glorious  linked  sentences  of  it. 
Had  all  this  come  of  the  few  words  of  Miss  Serena  and 
the  night-cry  of  a  bird  ?  It  had  surely  gone  through  a 
mind  and  soul  grandly  open  to  wonderful  receptions; 
the  message  had  been  heard  in  a  language  that  only  a 
heaven  -  touched  spirit  could  know.  Was  this  Richard 
Innesley,  whom  she  had  half  held  cheap  because  she  could 
not  always  see  that  his  face  shone  when  he  came  down 
out  of  the  mount,  and  because  he  walked  and  talked 
pleasantly  with  pretty,  winning,  gracious  Rose  Howick  ? 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  sermon,  Innesley  ?  "  asked 
Dr.  Farron,  in  the  robing-room. 

"  From  St.  Paul,  with  the  help  of  a  wise  woman." 

Dr.  Farron  was  not  so  much  the  wiser  for  that  answer, 
as  his  Dora  would  certainly  have  been. 

Miss  Serena  had  gone  to  her  own  church,  and  had  not 
heard  this  delivery  of  her  message  at  all. 


XXI. 

EVERY   WORD. 

UP  to  this  time  Peace  Polly  had  pretty  carefully  re 
membered  her  intention  not  to  be  any  the  more  neighborly 
with  Mr.  Innesley  because  of  their  having  been  cast  away 
together  for  an  hour  on  Pulpit  Rock ;  she  scrupulously 
dated  their  real  acquaintance  later,  and  let  it  go  no  whit 
further  in  appearance,  or  by  any  tacit  reference,  than  their 
subsequent  intercourse  accounted  for.  She  never  by  any 
means  reverted  to  the  incident ;  she  kept  warily  aloof 
from  any  word  that  might  otherwise  have  grown  out  of 
previous  words  that  had  been  spoken  there.  It  struck 
even  Mr.  Innesley  himself  as  curious,  the  utter  expunging 
of  that  page,  apparently,  from  their  brief  mutual  story. 
Perhaps  this  curious  fact  was  an  added  stimulus  to  his 
certainly  growing  interest  in  the  peculiar  girl. 

After  the  bit  of  honest  eavesdropping  in  the  orchard 
glen,  and  the  sermon  of  the  Sunday,  Peace  Polly  felt  and 
demeaned  herself  with  a  decided  difference. 

Here  had  been  something  not  at  all  of  her  seeking  or 
suffering,  in  which  she  was  not  even  the  prominent  per 
son,  which,  with  its  following,  had  really  begun  something 
between  them  aside  from  circumstance.  It  was  the  first 
positive  step  that  had  been  made. 

Peace  Polly  may  have  thought,  as  I  believe  I  have  said 
somewhere  back,  that  she  would  like  to  live  a  story ;  but 
it  would  assuredly  not  have  been  a  story  of  mere  outside 
happenings.  Even  in  a  book  she  was  impatient  of  such. 


198  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Her  own  story,  if  it  began  at  all,  would  begin  like  a  live 
spring,  somewhere  away  down  underground. 

It  meant  a  great  deal  more  to  her,  after  hearing  that 
eighth  of  Romans  sermon,  that  Mr.  Innesley  seemed  to 
care  to  come  here  so  much,  and  that  he  so  often  deserted 
the  professor  to  make  a  third  with  Miss  Serena  and  her 
self. 

Peace  Polly  was  not  a  girl  who  would  drift  on  through 
a  growing  intimacy  with  a  man  to  the  day  of  a  declara 
tion  or  the  day  of  a  disappointment,  without  ever  discern 
ing  what  might,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  human  affairs, 
happen  to  either  of  them.  It  was  not  a  thing  to  chatter 
and  laugh  and  speculate  about,  —  least  of  all,  to  try  for  ; 
but  she  knew  that  it  was  happening  every  day  where 
young  men  and  young  women  were  thrown  pleasantly  to 
gether  ;  and  she  had  outgrown,  partially,  at  any  rate,  the 
positiveness  of  her  childish  conviction  that  she  was  n't 
pretty,  and  she  was  n't  good,  and  nobody  would  ever 
want  to  marry  her. 

But  she  would  by  no  means  have  such  a  befalling  a  thing 
of  circumstance  any  more  than  —  churchwoman  as  she  was 
—  she  could  take  up  her  religion  by  its  circumstance.  Little 
encounters,  surface  or  chance  words,  social  opportunities, 
the  becoming  accidents  of  dress  and  fortuitous  favoring 
juxtapositions,  —  she  despised  them  all.  She  was  a  kind  of 
Atalanta  maiden,  who  would  have  been  most  likely  to  run 
the  other  way  when  any  seeking  of  her  began,  and  give 
the  suitor  a  hard  chase  through  retreats,  and  contrarieties 
of  character-showing,  and  willful  distance-making  between 
them.  If  she  threw  an  apple,  it  would  be  Atalanta-fash- 
ion,  to  stop  the  man  with  a  folly,  and  hinder  him  with 
a  mere  distraction.  And  as  to  outside  observation,  it 
seemed  probable  that  any  looking  on  or  prophesying,  any 
thing  of  a  romance  to  be  read  of  other  eyes  as  it  went 


EVERY  WORD.  199 

along,  would  utterly  overthrow  an  otherwise  possible  re 
sult.  Mr.  Innesley,  if  he  were  inclined  to  fall  in  love 
with  Peace  Polly,  would  have  it  very  much  against  him 
that  her  winning  of  him  would  be  the  winning  of  a  day 
against  a  somewhat  general  rivalry.  To  enter  the  lists, 
—  to  have  it  said  or  thought  that  she  had  carried  off  a 
prize,  —  Peace  Polly  would  have  hated  and  resisted  that 
concomitant  or  its  idea  with  an  absolute  rage,  and  to  a 
self-renouncing  struggle. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  beginning  to  like  the  man  behind 
his  agreeable  every  -  day  presentment,  to  reverence  the 
minister  behind  the  clerical  dignity  of  his  surplice. 

She  was  beginning  to  look  up  to  him ;  if  he  continued 
to  rise,  or  sustained  himself  at  the  altitude  at  which  she 
saw  him  just  now,  she  would  find  her  own  stipulation  ful 
filled,  —  would  find  she  could  "  look  way  up  to  him." 
Respect  and  reason  would  need  be  the  foundation  of 
any  love  with  Peace  Polly ;  she  knew  that  of  herself ; 
she  held  herself  of  will,  almost,  to  such  conditions ;  she 
knew  so  well  what  it  would  be  to  her  to  make  a  dream 
and  find  it  emptiness.  She  thought  —  for  even  Peace 
Polly  did  think  sometimes  of  the  possibility  —  that,  should 
she  ever  be  in  love,  it  would  be  only  for  sufficient  cause, 
well  proven ;  that  she  had  not  been  all  this  while  taking 
exception  to  her  present  life,  and  half  refusing  it,  for 
want  of  a  satisfying  raison  d'etre,  to  drift  helplessly  into 
a  new  one  only  because  a  chance  little  wind  or  current 
filled  her  sails  or  caressed  her  that  way.  She  thought  she 
should  not  only  know,  but  be  deliberately  consenting,  be 
fore  she  should  fall  in  love. 

But  many  people  have  watched  with  careful  intent, 
without  ever  being  able  to  catch  themselves  in  the  act  of 
dropping  asleep. 

As  for  Mr.  Innesley,  he  was  recognizing  more  and  more 


200  BONNYBOROUGH. 

the  high,  strong  points  of  character  in  this  girl ;  was  learn 
ing  to  interpret  —  and  this,  in  a  reflex  way,  is  an  especial 
force  of  fascination  in  a  friendship  —  her  difficult  ones, 
and  altogether  was  finding  her  to  be  the  most  suggestive 
and  stimulating  young  woman  he  had  ever  met. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that,  as  filling  the  duty  of  her 
clergyman,  and  looking  forward  to  the  full  cure  of  the 
gathered  souls  among  whom  she  was  numbered  in  his 
parish,  he  had  left  unnoticed  the  open  facts  of  her  relig 
ious  life.  Of  course  he  knew  that  she  was  not  a  confirmed 
member  of  her  church.  He  felt  in  duty  bound  —  or  at 
least  that  he  soon  should  be  —  to  do  something  about  that, 
but  it  came  in  strangely  with  his  natural  interest  in  her 
as  a  young  woman. 

He  approached  the  matter  one  day  with  Dr.  Farron. 

"  Ought  I  to  say  anything  ?  "  he  asked  the  old  rector. 

"  I  think  you  may  as  well  let  it  alone,  for  the  present," 
the  elder  clergyman  replied.  And  Mr.  Innesley  took  that 
to  mean  until  after  his  own  priestly  ordination.  He  was 
to  go  away  for  this  in  the  end  of  August.  The  bishop 
was  to  be  in  Bonnyborough  in  September;  then  there 
would  be  a  confirmation,  for  which  Dr.  Farron  was  pre 
paring  a  class. 

Rose  Howick  had  been  brought  forward  at  the  usual 
age.  She  had  taken  upon  herself  the  promises  of  her 
baptism,  had  renounced  duly  all  the  pomps  and  vanities, 
and  was  sweetly  and  innocently  blooming  along  her  add 
ing  years,  shedding  a  pleasantness  about  her  which  was 
neither  vain  nor  pompous,  though  her  pleased  conscious 
ness  of  it  may  not  have  been  high-saintly,  either.  Her 
happy  temperament  was  not  troubled  by  deep  question  or 
searching  self-judgment. 

I  know  very  well  that  scarcely  one  man  in  ten,  in  Mr. 
Innesley 's  place,  would  not  have  preferred,  out  and  out,  a 


EVERY   WORD.  201 

girl  like  Rose  Howick,  ready-made  as  it  were,  and  lovely, 
to  a  struggling,  contradictory,  incomplete  human  creature 
like  Peace  Polly.  And  the  other  nine  men  need  not  have 
been  as  mere  tailors,  either.  I  think  it  speaks  a  great 
deal  for  Richard  Innesley  that  he  was  drawn  so  strongly, 
as  he  now  realized  himself  to  be,  toward  The  Knolls,  for 
Peace  Polly's  sake,  who  dwelt  there. 

Dr.  Fuller  did  not  occupy  himself  quite  so  much  in  these 
days  with  Peace  Polly.  Whether  it  was  that  he  withdrew 
a  little  as  the  younger  man's  interest  —  which  might  be 
likely  to  grow  to  something  different  from  his  own  and  of 
a  ranking  claim  —  so  evidently  increased,  or  whether  he 
were  now  becoming  more  absorbed  with  his  new  anthropo 
logical  specimen,  to  wit,  her  quiet,  and  to  a  casual  obser 
vation  inferior,  brother,  or  whether  there  were  any  secret 
sense  of  danger  that  a  good  man  would  steer  clear  of  or  a 
wise  man  would  escape,  it  was  certain  that  he  invited  less 
of  her  attention  to  his  own  work,  and  put  himself  less  often 
in  her  way  ;  and  that  when  the  friendly  little  circle  gath 
ered  about  the  fore  door  of  an  evening  he  was  apt,  unless 
busy  in  his  own  room,  or  talking  half  apart  with  Lyman, 
to  stroll  away  up  the  hillside,  to  get  a  breath  of  the  high 
airs,  and  the  glory  of  the  solitudes  of  the  bare  ridges  under 
the  great  night  sky  throbbing  with  suns. 

Once  or  twice  Lyman  walked  away  with  him  ;  and  it 
seemed  that,  whereas  there  was  a  slight  depression  and 
preoccupation  noticeable  frequently  in  the  mill -master 
when  he  sat  with  the  rest  in  the  leisure  of  evening, 
he  came  back  from  his  walks  and  talks  with  the  professor 
with  a  refreshed  and  assured  aspect,  like  a  man  who  had 
found  some  welcome  alternative  to  the  pressure  and  mo 
notony  of  cares  and  interests  warping  and  straining  him 
all  one  way. 

Peace  Polly  noticed  this  ;  she  noticed  everything  about 


202  BONNYBOROUGH. 

her  brother ;  it  was  as  if  her  eyes  were  opening  now  to 
many  things.  Her  old  limited  life  was  widening,  even  in 
that  which  had  cramped  it ;  or  was  it  only  that,  like  the 
blind  man,  she  had  discerned  thus  far  nothing  but  the 
mere  vegetative  life  which  she  had  thought  was  all,  but 
that  a  touch  had  come  upon  her  beginning  to  reveal  more 
clearly  what  she  had  said  to  herself  was  no  more  than  a 
man  as  a  tree  walking  ? 

If  Dr.  Fuller  did  not  directly  approach  or  address  her 
quite  so  much,  he  was  not  the  less  alert  to  her  movement, 
her  expression,  her  recognition  of  that  which  was  passing, 
and  which  he  himself  was  gradually  bringing  about.  He 
could  not  if  he  would,  perhaps,  divest  himself  of  his  habit 
of  close  scrutiny  of  all  things. 

He  saw  when  her  face  lit  up,  as  he  and  Lyman  came 
in  together ;  he  caught  the  glance,  half  question,  half  sat 
isfaction,  which  sought  them  as  they  sat  aside,  so  evidently 
interested  with  each  other.  It  was  dawning  upon  Peace 
Polly  —  and  Dr.  Fuller  knew  it,  perhaps  he  meant  it  — 
that  there  were  some  things  in  dull  Lyman  that  everybody 
did  not  find  so  dull.  He  read  the  surprise  and  pride  of 
it  that  flushed  her  softly  now  and  then,  and  as  keenly  de 
tected  the  little  fall  of  the  eyelid  and  the  sighing  out- 
breath  that  came  of  a  sudden  inward  asking,  "  Why  can 
he  not  be  like  that  to  me,  or  I  to  him  ?  " 

Something  made  her  feel  very  grateful  to  Dr.  Fuller. 
It  was  as  if,  instead  of  soothing,  or  strengthening,  or  solac 
ing,  or  diverting  her,  as  one  who  had  an  inevitable  thing 
to  bear,'  he  were  taking  away  the  thing  that  had  troubled 
her,  or  showing  it,  indirectly,  to  be  quite  different  from 
what  she  had  believed.  She  did  not  suppose,  of  course, 
that  he  could  be  conscious  of  this  ;  none  the  less,  she  looked 
upon  him  thankfully ;  her  heart  beat  secretly  towards  him 
as  to  one  who  brought  her  healing. 


EVERY   WORD.  203 

Not  for  an  instant  was  there  betrayal  of  any  jealousy  or 
sense  of  slight,  in  that  Lyman  was  gaining  the  friendship 
that  had  begun  for  her,  and  that  she,  a  little  bit,  was  losing 
or  missing  as  in  consequence  ;  if  there  were  a  touch  of 
such  a  pain,  it  was  that  a  stranger  was  gaining  Lyman  as 
she  herself  had  never  known  how  to  do.  All  this,  under 
the  lens  of  his  high  life-reading  power,  the  curious  pro 
fessor  saw. 

At  the  same  time  with  all  this,  there  was  evidence  that 
Lyman  was  either  worried,  or  was  working  too  hard. 
Miss  Serena  told  him,  using  the  word  that  New  England 
people  always  apply  to  over-workers,  whether  for  state  or 
trade  or  housewifery,  that  he  was  "  too  ambitious." 

"  Money  is  n't  everything,"  she  said. 

"Money  stands  for  a  good  deal,"  Lyman  answered. 

Serena's  brow  contracted  gently  ;  this  was  a  flaw  she 
thought  she  had  always  perceived  in  Lyman ;  and  it  had 
given  her  sorrow,  always.  She  feared  that  gain  of  the 
world  which  threatens  the  losing  of  the  soul.  She  trem 
bled,  sometimes,  for  the  " parallel  lines"  she  had  admon 
ished  him  of.  With  Peace  Polly,  it  had  been  one  of  the 
things  she  had  thought  small  in  him  ;  it  kept  him  down  to 
a  mean  level,  she  thought,  as  a  man.  She  did  not  worry 
so  much  about  his  soul ;  there  must  be  a  full  man,  first,  to 
have  a  soul. 

Peace  Polly  and  the  professor  were  both  by  when  Ly 
man  said  that  about  money.  It  touched  an  old,  aching 
nerve  with  the  girl. 

u  Lyman  reverences  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,"  she  said, 
laughing ;  but  there  was  an  echo  of  the  old  bitterness  in 
the  speech. 

"  And  so  I  ought,"  answered  Lyman.  "A  quarter  of  a 
dollar  stands,  or  used  to,  for  a  man's  struggle  and  labor 
for  a  quarter  of  a  day.  Money  means  manhood;  it's 


204  BONNYBOROUGH. 

what  a  man  has  got  to  show  for  being  a  man,  for  what 
he  has  done  in  the  world.  I  should  n't  like  to  lose  my 
certificate,  Polly." 

Peace  Polly  threw  up  her  head  with  the  flash  of  herself 
in  her  face  that  she  had  a  way  of ;  as  if  suddenly  the  best 
of  her  were  appealed  to  and  came  forth  at  call.  I  cannot 
otherwise  describe  the  lighting  up  and  response  of  her 
look. 

"If  you  mean  it  that  way!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
kind  of  joyfulness. 

"  Your  brother  means  a  great  many  things  in  a  noble 
way  of  his  own,"  said  the  professor,  quietly. 

Lyman  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  slight  bewil 
derment.  He  had  not  known  that  he  had  said  a  noble 
thing  at  all. 

Peace  Polly  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Lyman,"  she  said.  That  was  another  way  she 
had,  as  we  have  seen  before,  —  her  begging  pardon.  The 
word  came  instinctively  whenever  she  retracted  a  secret 
injustice.  It  was  only  very  lately  that  she  had  begun  to 
have  the  way  with  Lyman. 

Lyman  laughed,  not  unpleased,  but  still  puzzled.  "  You 
are  queer  people,  I  think ;  I  'm  not  up  to  all  your  ins  and 
outs,"  he  said. 

Miss  Serena  took  up  the  previous  question. 

"There  are  other  things,"  she  said,  "that  mean  man 
hood,  too.  That  was  what  I  told  you ;  money  is  n't 
everything.  And  a  man  hasn't  a  right  to  waste  his 
strength  for  it.  What  it  stands  for  may  be  wanted  in 
some  other  ways." 

Persistent  as  she  seemed,  however,  she  smiled  in  speak 
ing  ;  and  a  little  happy  relief  sounded  in  her  voice.  Ly 
man  felt  himself  exonerated  from  something,  though  the 
acquittal  was  as  perplexing  to  him  as  the  implication. 


EVERY  WORD.  205 

" I  am  only  a  man,"  he  answered  Serena,  —  "a  work- 
ingman ;  with  a  workingman's  way  of  looking  at  things." 

Serena  did  not  say  to  him  as  she  had  said  about  him, 
"  You  are  a  good  man,  Lyman ;  "  but  the  look  was  in  her 
face  that  had  been  with  those  words,  and  Lyman  himself 
had  not  caught  sight  of  just  such  a  look  in  her  before. 
Perhaps  that  was  what  moved  him  to  go  on. 

"  May  be  you  don't  see  what  I  mean,"  he  said.  "  A 
man  must  have  used  his  strength,  or  his  capacity,  for 
something  besides  money,  or  he  would  n't  have  got  it. 
It 's  the  token.  What  would  you  have  a  man  do  with 
his  strength,  if  not  his  piece  of  the  world's  work,  Se 
rena  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  him  just  remember  to  make  a  heave- 
offering  of  it ;  then  there  would  n't  be  any  danger,"  Se 
rena  remarked,  strangely  and  simply. 

"  A  heave-offering  ?  "  Lyman  repeated,  with  surprised 
interrogation. 

"  Yes.  There  was  the  wave-breast,  you  know,  and  the 
heave-shoulder.  Don't  they  compare  to  the  heart  and  the 
strength  in  the  commandment  ?  Ain't  everything  that  we 
have  in  our  hearts,  or  that 's  good  to  them,  like  the  sweet, 
rich  food  of  fine  flour  and  oil,  and  the  fat  of  the  breast, 
to  be  lifted  up  first  of  all,  before  we  take  it  to  ourselves ; 
and  ain't  the  strength  of  a  man's  shoulder  to  be  heaved 
for  the  Lord  ?  I  guess  that 's  what  it  all  means,  in  the 
sign  of  it."  And  Serena  took  up  the  knitting-work  again, 
that  she  had  let  fall  with  her  hands  for  a  minute  into  her 
lap,  and  set  her  fresh  needle  quietly. 

"  That 's  like  Rebeccarabby,"  said  Peace  Polly,  after 
the  mere  instant  in  which  nobody  answered.  "  She 's 
pious  just  as  she  's  everything  else ;  it's  all  heave-offering 
with  her.  She  told  me  the  other  day,  when  I  went  into 
the  kitchen,  *  I  'm  going  to  iron  to  God,  to-day,  Peace 


206  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Polly ! '  and  the  iron  was  smoking  hot,  and  it  came 
down  upon  a  big,  heavy,  damp  sheet  with  a  whang  and  a 
steam ! " 

Peace  Polly  lifted  up  a  great  glass  bowl  she  had  been 
filling  with  water-lilies,  and  carried  it  over  into  the  best 
room  and  put  it  upon  the  round  table  in  the  middle.  The 
air  was  all  sweet  in  a  moment  with  the  breath  of  them  ; 
the  fragrance  hung  behind  her  in  the  wide  old  hall,  and 
followed  her  like  the  trail  of  a  cloud. 

The  professor,  who  had  been  standing  in  his  doorway, 
came  across. 

"  Each  in  her  own  way,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  bending 
down  to  smell  the  lilies  close  to  their  hearts.  "Miss 
Wyse  mades  wonderful  interpretations  of  the  old  words. 
Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Miss  Peace,  that  she  might  have 
interpreted  all  living  more  fully  to  your  brother  ?  "  He 
asked  it  in  a  low  tone,  regarding  her  across  the  table  as 
he  raised  his  face  from  the  sweet  heap  of  flowers. 

Peace  Polly  returned  the  look  intently.  "  Lately,"  she 
said,  "  I  have  thought  there  must  have  been,  some  time, 
some  mistake." 

"  Ah,  the  mis-takings,  and  the  mis-leavings !  "  said  the 
professor,  leaning  again  toward  the  lilies,  and  touching 
the  smooth,  pink-olive  sheath-petal  of  one  most  exquisitely 
half  open.  "And  all  the  ignorant  beginning,  when  we 
can  only  lay  up  things  for  late  wisdom  to  repent  of !  I 
don't  mean  in  marriage  only ;  human  life  seems  all  like 
that,  except  by  some  blessed  sort  of  accident  here  and 
there.  I  have  such  a  great  respect  for  your  brother,  Miss 
Peace ! "  he  concluded,  with  a  breath  and  movement  as 
if  casting  off  the  other  thought,  and  replacing  it  with 
something  that  might  be  replied  to. 

He  was  looking  straight  in  her  face  again.  Did  he 
mean  it  half  for  rebuke  ?  she  wondered.  He  had  seen  that 


EVERY  WORD.  207 

she  had  failed  that  way,  toward  Lyman.  Could  he  dis 
cover  that  she  had  failed  to  her  own  pain,  and  that  such 
rebuke  carried  a  sudden  gladness  in  its  very  sting  ? 

It  was  in  her  face  for  him  to  see,  at  any  rate. 

"  I  think,  Dr.  Fuller,  that  you  have  done  nothing  but 
show  me  beautiful  things  that  I  could  not  have  seen  for 
myself,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  lit  deeply  as  he  kept  them  upon  hers.  "  I 
would  like  to  show  you  all  beautiful  things,"  he  answered. 
"You  receive  them  very  absolutely." 

And  then,  as  if  recalling  himself,  he  turned  from  her 
and  her  flowers,  and  left  the  room  with  a  composed  and 
casual  air,  as  he  had  come  in. 

"  There  is  something  odd,  and  a  little  secret,  about 
C.  P.,  besides  his  name,"  thought  Peace  Polly,  with  a  pur- 
poseness  she  used  sometimes  in  her  thoughts  with  herself, 
as  in  conversation  with  others.  Was  it,  in  like  manner,  to 
check  with  nonsense  a  little  too  much  earnest ;  to  turn  with 
a  sauciness  what  she  did  not  care,  or  dare,  to  follow  di 
rectly  to  full  understanding  ?  In  herself,  as  in  others,  she 
was  perceiving,  all  at  once,  a  drift  and  presentiment  curi 
ously  intensifying  in  a  daily  going  on  that  had  heretofore 
been  so  commonplace  and  unmeaning. 

Not  the  least  significant  thing  was  that  she  was  growing 
a  little  afraid  —  unwilling,  at  any  rate  —  to  stop  and  inves 
tigate.  And  yet  there  was  one  point  about  Dr.  Fuller  — 
and  it  was  not  his  initials  —  that  she  could  not  reconcile, 
and  that  she  would  have  liked  to  have  clearly  explained. 
She  could  not  speak  to  Lyman  about  it ;  he  would  wonder 
why  she  cared  ;  certainly  not  to  other  people,  for  she  con 
temptuously  detested  gossip,  and  a  guest  was  sacred.  But 
such  as  he  showed  himself  to  be,  and  marvelously  and 
generously  as  he  divined  others,  how  was  this  one  thing 
possible  with  him  ? 


208  BONNYBOROUGH. 

She  had  said  she  must  whole-love  her  brother  before 
she  could  be  content.  It  was  beginning  to  be  needful  to 
her  to  whole-reverence  this  friend. 

The  little  talk  just  repeated  had  happened  in  the  morn 
ing.  Serena  and  her  knitting-work  had  come  over  for 
that  pleasantness  which  women  who  live  busily,  yet  easily, 
so  much  enjoy  between  the  day's  early  housewifery  and 
the  dinner  hour.  Lyman  had  come  up  from  his  mill 
for  something  that  he  needed,  and  had  let  his  horse  wait 
at  the  door  an  unusual  five  minutes,  while  he  fell  into  the 
bit  of  conversation,  standing,  sorting  some  papers,  at  the 
stair-foot.  When  Peace  Polly  emerged  from  her  parlor 
again,  he  was  gone,  and  the  professor's  door  was  closed. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  that,  sitting  alone  by  the  hill- 
doorway,  she  heard  Dr.  Fuller's  step  approaching  her 
through  the  hall,  and  his  voice,  in  quite  the  old  way 
with  which  he  had  begun  with  her,  asking  her  to  come 
and  see  something  new  through  the  microscope.  Perhaps 
the  acknowledgment  of  the  morning  had  been  so  very 
pleasant  to  him  that  he  could  not  resist  offering  her  this 
one  more  beautiful  thing  to  see  ;  or  the  rarity  of  the 
opportunity  was  upon  his  kindly  conscience.  He  might 
possibly  have  waited  till  there  were  others  also  to  enjoy ; 
or  waiting  might  have  involved  a  loss.  That  he  had  to 
settle  within  himself.  However  it  was,  there  was  no  doubt 
of  the  pleasure  with  which  he  accosted  her,  finding  her 
there  by  herself  in  the  stillness,  or  the  delight  which  an 
swered  in  look  and  step  as  she  rose  and  came  to  meet 
him. 

He  put  the  glass  upon  the  hall-table ;  he  rarely  asked 
her  now  into  his  room.  It  required  a  few  moments  to 
readjust  his  object,  a  small  thing  with  a  little  water  about 
it,  set  in  a  glass-hollow  beneath  the  instrument.  Small 
as  it  was,  it  was  largely  beyond  the  field  of  the  glasses. 


EVERY  WORD.  209 

But  it  was  a  whole,  he  told  her,  and  must  not  be  sepa 
rated. 

"  It  is  a  bit  of  living  sponge,"  he  said.  "  A  friend  has 
sent  me  some  specimens  from  an  aquarium  in  which  he 
cultivates  t  objects.'  Now  you  shall  see  the  little  water- 
volcanoes.  Or,  wait  a  moment.  I  will  show  you  first  the 
whole  island,  in  a  bird's-eye  view." 

He  withdrew  the  glass  receptacle  from  beneath  the 
microscope,  and  brought  a  large  lens  of  strong  but  not 
microscopic  power,  which  he  gave  into  her  hand.  "  Look 
through  that  first." 

"  Yes,"  she  said :  "  it  is  a  little  island,  in  a  real  little 
sea  of  glass.  It  is  all  cones  and  peaks,  like  little  ant 
hills." 

"  Exactly.  Now  you  shall  see  some  of  those  cones  in 
operation."  He  put  the  whole  back  in  position,  under  the 
microscope.  Gazing  through,  Peace  Polly  beheld,  to  ber 
enchantment,  a  wonderful  life  and  action.  Two  or  three 
of  the  little  cones  were  in  full  eruption,  sending  up  jets 
of  finest  water  -  particles  from  their  minute  points,  the 
thread-like  columns  breaking  and  falling,  in  prettiest  foun 
tain  showers,  down  into  the  intervening  hollows  again. 

Dr.  Fuller  waited  for  what  she  might  say  to  it.  If  she 
had  known  how  curiously  he  expected  that  first  word  of 
hers  after  a  wonder,  she  would  have  disappointed  him,  of 
course,  through  the  mere  consciousness.  He  was  most 
careful  not  to  question,  or  seem  to  await  anything.  While 
she  still  looked,  he  busied  himself  with  some  slight  move 
ments  and  handlings  about  the  table. 

It  came  at  last.  "Oh,  Dr.  Fuller,  life  isn't  long 
enough !  " 

"  That  is  one  reason  I  cannot  help  thinking  we  shall 
have  more  of  it,"  answered  the  professor. 

"  But  what  a  satisfying,  even  as  we  go  along !  "  said 
14 


210  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Peace  Polly,  looking  up  with  a  long-drawn  breath.  "Just 
to  know  it  is  all  there,  and  that  there  is  no  end  to  it ! 
One  might  almost  live  on  these  things." 

"  Does  n't  the  good  book  say  we  live  on  '  every  word '  ?  " 
asked  Dr.  Fuller,  with  that  kind  of  outside  air  and  ques 
tion  with  which  he  always  put  such  suggestions.  He 
never  spoke  ex  cathedra,  but  always  as  reminding  other 
people  of  that  which  from  their  established  standpoint 
might  be  seen  and  said.  He  held  a  lens  to  everything. 
Then  people  might  just  use  their  own  eyes.  It  was  so  he 
had  shown  Peace  Polly  her  brother.  The  girl  felt  his 
way,  and  the  peculiar  force  and  efficiency  of  it,  but  she 
had  not  yet  wholly  found  him  out. 

"  <  Every,'  "  repeated  Polly  ;  "that  means  all  the  little 
prepositions  and  conjunctions,  disjunctive  ones  and  all,  as 
well  as  the  substantial  facts,  and  the  being  and  doing  and 
suffering.  It  means  the  ifs  and  the  ands  and  the  buts,  and 
the  things  that  are  hung  on  or  separated  by  them.  In 
terruptions,  and  interjections,  and  all  sorts  of  parentheses. 
Other  people's  words,  their  facts  and  prepositions,  the 
contrary  notions  and  —  oh,  dear !  all  the  interrogation 
points !  " 

"  I  suppose  St.  Paul's  charity  takes  it  all  in ;  all  this 
human  etymology  and  syntax,"  said  Dr.  Fuller. 

"  How  did  you  mean  to  spell  that  last  word  ?  "  asked 
Peace  Polly,  quickly. 

The  doctor  thought  a  second,  and  laughed.  "  Well, 
yes,  in  this  sort  of  grammar,  it  might  as  well  be  with  an 
'  i,'  "  he  answered  her. 

There  was  a  very  diverted  admiration  in  his  eyes. 
There  was  depth  in  this  girl's  nonsense ;  real  insight,  al 
ways,  under  her  word-cleverness. 

Meanwhile,  there  rushed  through  Peace  Polly's  mind 
the  lately  aroused  question.  What  had  he  to  do,  this 


EVERY   WORD.  211 

professor,  charming  as  he  was  with  his  deep  wisdom  and 
his  gentle,  strong  ways,  with  that  great  charity  of  St. 
Paul's,  and  the  other  things  from  the  holy  New  Testa 
ment,  that  he  reverted  to  so  tangently,  so  easily  ?  What 
was  it  about  the  every  word  of  his  own  life,  or  how  as  to 
long  breaks,  omissions,  phrases  understood  or  misunder 
stood  ?  He  had  become  so  much  her  friend,  he  had  made 
her  so  rely  upon  his  truth,  his  sureness,  that  she  had  a 
claim  to  know  how  sure,  how  true,  he  was,  all  through ;  or 
if  there  were  —  she  would  not  say  a  falsehood,  but  an  in- 
coherency,  anywhere.  He  was  a  great  deal  older  and 
better  than  she,  and  yet  she  felt  compelled  to  sit  in  judg 
ment  upon  him  in  this  matter. 

"I  think  it  is  more  often  a  worry  with  women,  this 
every  word,"  she  said,  "  than  with  you  men.  Our  charity, 
or  good-temper,  or  something,  has  to  cover  such  a  conflict 
ing  multitude  of  little  demands.  Now,  with  you,  all  those 
give  up  to  one  great  thing,  that  you  can  be  left  in  peace 
with :  there  's  Lyman  with  his  mill ;  and  you  have  your 
science.  It  seems  as  if  in  every-day  getting  along  the 
whole  swarm  of  interruptions  was  turned  over  to  women, 
that  they  might  simply  keep  them  out  of  the  way  of  men. 
I  suppose  that  may  be  why  men  can  hardly  bear  them 
at  all.  You  seem  to  have  a  different  right  about  engross 
ments.  And  a  man's  engrossment  is  so  often  a  woman's 
desolation.  I  wonder  "  —  and  there  she  stopped,  but  her 
eyes  searched  him. 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  with  a  curious,  frank,  waiting 
amusement. 

"  You  wonder  what  ?  "  he  asked,  when  she  did  not 
speak  any  further. 

"  Something  impertinent,  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Peace 
Polly,  turning  away.  "  But  it  was  pertinent,  too,  to  my 
puzzle."  She  would  not  accuse  herself  of  impertinence 
without  this  bit  of  justification. 


212  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Then  it  cannot  be  impertinent  to  me.  I  am  quite 
ready,  with  any  results  of  longer  experiment,  to  help  you, 
Miss  Peace." 

"  Well,  it  was  n't  so  bad  as  you  may  think  if  I  don't 
say  it.  I  wondered  how  Mrs.  —  how  your  wife  managed 
about  the  engrossment.  I  was  thinking  what  the  mill  is 
to  me,  and  whether  even  this  —  might  be  quite  satisfying, 
always,  on  the  other  side."' 

She  put  it  very  directly,  now  she  had  dared  to  put  it 
at  all.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  said,  "  Have  you  let 
this  take  you  away  from  her,  as  Ly man's  boards  and 
mouldings  and  figures  on  chips  have  taken  him  so  much 
away  from  me  ?  And  is  that  what  she  is  tired  of,  and  has 
gone  off  from  ?  Is  that  what  it  comes  to,  in  the  long  run, 
in  the  home,  that  after  all  ought  to  be  the  most  beautiful 
thing  ?  Have  you  searched  into  the  life  of  sponges  and 
spores,  and  let  a  woman's  —  that  depended  on  you  —  go 
on,  or  starve,  as  it  might  happen  ?  " 

The  amusement  played  slightly,  even  yet,  on  the  pro 
fessor's  face.  It  was  mingled  with  a  little  perplexity,  a 
kindliness  certainly,  and  something  more  that  Peace  Polly 
could  not  read. 

"  My  wife,"  he  said  slowly,  —  "  well,  if  she  were  here, 
perhaps  she  might  say  that  she  was  interested,  too." 

"  I  dare  say  she  would,"  returned  Peace  Polly,  con 
tinuing  to  regard  him  with  eyes  of  which  she  knew  not 
the  keen  inquiry,  "  for  a  pleasure  spared  to  her  out  of 
it,  as  you  spare  to  me.  But  this  is  a  kind  of  holiday 
time,  and  I  have  leisure.  She  must  have  a  great  many 
of  those  other  things,  those  little  teasing  words  that  we 
women  do  have  to  spell  out,  work  that  you  have  nothing 
to  do  with,  till  it  is  done,  and  then  —  you  just  expect  to 
find  it  so,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  naturally  would  ;  may  be  I  should  n't 


EVERY   WORD.  2 13 

always  know  how  much,  till  it  was  done,  as  you  say ;  I 
dare  say  we  men  don't  realize  that.  But  while  men  and 
women  are  busy,  each  in  their  own  way,  is  n't  it,  or 
ought  n't  it  to  be,  —  I  don't  say  it  is,  in  any  particular 
case,  —  a  making  ready  of  results,  to  share  each  with  the 
other  ?  Life  is  divided,  that  it  may  be  one." 

"  You  talk  in  the  potential  mood,-"  said  Peace  Polly. 
"  "We  have  to  live  in  the  indicative." 

If  he  did  baffle  her  with  his  mays  and  oughts  and 
woulds,  she  left  him  quite  as  disconcerted  with  her  quick 
detection  and  possible  conclusions. 

Did  she  think  he  had  spoken  in  a  mean  way,  with  his 
potentials,  of  a  woman  whom  he  ought  to  honor  ?  Then 
he  must  even  leave  it  so. 

Peace  Polly  went  and  sat  down  in  the  hillside  door, 
out  of  sight,  in  the  corner  hidden  by  the  great  staircase. 
She  had  left  a  basket  of  pretty  work  upon  her  light  sta^fi 
there,  when  Dr.  Fuller  had  called  her,  some  bright  little 
scarlet  and  buff  tea-doylies  to  whose  fringed  edges  she 
was  whipping  a  selvage.  She  took  the  basket  down  be 
side  her  upon  the  sill,  and  picked  up  thimble  and  nee 
dle  again,  some  mental  process  accompanying  her  quick 
stitches  like  the  whipping  in  of  thoughts  that  might  else 
have  raveled.  Underneath  a  certain  determination  not 
to  think  any  more,  the  ripple  of  cogitation  that  she  would 
not  recognize  still  moved. 

After  some  minutes,  the  busy  fingers  dropped  upon  her 
lap  with  the  work  in  them.  She  made  some  absent,  use 
less  little  stabs  with  her  needle  in  the  linen,  looking  off 
the  while  where  the  clear  water  fell,  bobble,  bobble, 
dickle,  dockle,  plop,  plop  ! 

"  C.  P.,"  she  said,  softly,  to  herself.  "  Certainly  Pecul 
iar,  and  a  Complete  Puzzle."  She  laughed  a  little  as 
softly  as  she  had  whispered  the  syllables.  Then  she  went 
on,  mentally,  — 


214  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  But  Mrs.  C.  P.  must  be  more  so  yet.  What  does  she 
want  to  go  to  Europe  for  !  " 

As  the  words  clearly  came  up  to  her,  emphasis  and  all, 
she  started  from  the  saying  of  them,  as  one  starts  bodily 
from  a  dream,  threw  back  her  work  upon  her  basket,  and 
walked  away  with  a  severe  dignity,  as  if  leaving  some  one 
who  had  spoken  unbecomingly  unanswered. 

She  went  and  stood  by  the  little  rustic  tree-trough  full 
of  ferns  and  water-plants  that  she  had  cherished  and 
petted  beneath  the  trickle  of  the  always  dropping  water. 

Things  would  not  let  her  alone  this  afternoon.  While 
she  lingered  there,  half  vexed  and  ashamed  with  herself, 
and  half  happy  with  the  beautiful  fresh,  growing  things, 
Rebeccarabby's  shout  came  across  to  her. 

"  Here  's  the — parson,  coming  up  the  grass-walk  to  the 
fore  door,  Peace  Polly !  " 

.  Of  course  she  could  be  heard  both  ways ;  when  could 
Rebeccarabby  not  ?  Peace  Polly  was  only  glad  and  grate 
ful  that  she  had  not  said,  as  apparently  she  had  caught 
herself  back  from  saying,  —  "  the  dough  parson."  It  was 
what,  understanding  him  to  be  but  a  minister  in  the  raw, 
she  had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  entitle  him  in  her  private 
remarks.  To  check  Rebeccarabby  in  her  private  remarks 
would  have  been  something  too  much  like  applying  a  posi 
tive  force  to  keep  down  nitro-glycerine.  She  was  safest 
let  alone. 

Peace  Polly  stood  still  where  she  was. 

"  She  's  out  there,  ter  Horib !  "  pealed  forth  Rebecca 
rabby.  "  That 's  what  I  call  it ;  't  allers  puts  me  in  mind 
of  wher  Moses  smut  the  rock." 

Peace  Polly  heard  Mr.  Innesley's  slight,  well-bred 
laugh  in  reply,  and  his  footsteps  coming  over  the  smooth- 
varnished  floor.  She  waited,  and  let  him  come  all  the 
way  through;  then  she  turned  with  a  smile.  She  af- 


EVERY  WORD.  215 

fected  nothing,  either  way ;  she  was  always  quietly  pleased, 
now,  to  see  Mr.  Innesley. 

The  professor,  in  his  room,  took  down  his  straw  hat 
from  behind  the  door,  and  walked  forth  at  his  long  win 
dow,  and  down  the  orchard.  It  is  as  well  to  say  here  as 
anywhere  that,  except  in  the  usual  encounters  of  the 
household,  Peace  Polly  saw  no  more  of  him  after  this  for 
two  or  three  days. 

And  those  days  gave  her  several  things  to  think  of. 


XXII. 

ALONG   THE    RIVERSIDE. 

"MRS.  FARRON  has  sent  me  for  you,"  said  Mr.  In- 
nesley.  "  She  told  me  to  say  that  you  had  not  taken  tea 
with  her  for  ten  days,  and  that  she  should  neither  eat  nor 
drink  until  you  came." 

"  Is  that  an  irrevocable  vow  ?  "  asked  Peace  Polly. 

"  She  meant  it  to  be  understood  so." 

"  Go  back  and  tell  her  I  've  company,  and  a  headache, 
and  I  Ve  twisted  my  ankle,  and  it  will  have  to  be  ten 
days  more."  Peace  Polly  said  this  with  the  utmost 
gravity. 

"  Ah,  but  none  of  that  is  true,  Miss  Peace !  " 

Peace  Polly  opened  her  eyes  wide  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Innesley  !  It  is  three  times  as  true  as  the  other, 
which  I  wonder  you  undertook  to  tell  me.  I  've  you 
here,  at  this  moment ;  and  my  head  does  ache  —  this 
warm  day  —  enough  to  mention  ;  and  "  —  She  swept 
back  with  her  hand  the  hem  of  her  dress,  and  showed  one 
little  foot  atiptoe  behind  the  heel  of  the  other. 

The  graceful  bit  of  foolishness  was  all  the  more  be 
witching  that  she  was  apt  to  be  so  intensely  earnest,  and 
that  there  was  not  the  smallest  tinge  of  coquetry  in  her 
action  ;  she  was  thinking  only  of  her  retort.  It  was  al 
ways  very  plain  that  Peace  Polly  meant  but  one  thing  at 
a  time ;  she  was  aefauld,  as  the  Scotch  say  it. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall  dare  go  back  without  you," 
said  Mr.  Innesley,  as  grave  as  she. 


ALONG    THE  RIVERSIDE.  217 

"  Oh,  then,  if  you  are  afraid  !  I  suppose  I  must  help 
you  out  of  it,  —  again."  She  did  not  say  that  last  word 
aloud ;  she  laughed,  gently,  instead.  "  But  you  must  let 
me  go  round  by  the  mill,  to  tell  my  brother." 

Now  the  walk  round  by  the  mill,  taking  the  meadow 
path  from  across  the  road,  and  following  the  river  bank 
a  little  way,  then  coming  up  into  the  street  again  through 
a  wild,  sweet  green  lane,  was  not  only  longer,  but  greatly 
more  enticing,  and  a  way  they  were  likely  to  have  very 
quietly  to  themselves.  If  Peace  Polly  had  any  arrear 
thought  about  it,  it  was  that  the  staring,  commenting  vil 
lage  folk  need  not  be  encountered.  She  did  not  care  to 
have  it  reckoned  how  often  she  even  went  to  the  old  rec 
tory  to  take  tea.  And  the  lane  way  would  bring  them  up 
from  behind,  through  the  shady  rectory  orchard  and 
garden. 

A  while  back,  Peace  Polly  would  have  left  word 
merely  with  Rebeccarabby.  Mr.  Innesley  shrewdly  re 
frained  from  the  reminder  of  the  headache  and  the  hot 
day,  to  say  nothing  of  the  palpable  little  fraud  of  the  dis 
torted  ankle,  and  assented  with  alacrity  to  the  longer, 
pleasanter  round. 

So  Peace  Polly  put  on  a  little  close-tilted  *  straw  hat 
with  a  silvery  scarf-cloud  gathered  lightly  about  it,  and 
they  went  off  down  the  long  grass-walk  from  the  front 
between  the  maples,  and  across  the  dusty  highway  into 
the  green  meadow. 

Professor  Fuller  saw  them  from  the  pasture-knoll  be 
yond  the  brook.  He  stood  still  a  moment,  looking  after 
them  as  they  strolled  side  by  side  along  the  winding  track 
that  was  at  once  cartway  and  double  footpath. 

"  I  suppose  that  must  go  on,"  he  said  to  himself ;  and 
the  cloud  that  contracted  his  brow  betrayed  a  furrow  as 
of  some  habitual  pain. 


218  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  But  what  right  have  I  to  hope  otherwise  ?  "  he  de 
manded  of  himself  sternly.  He  struck  the  stick  he  car 
ried  sharply  into  the  crisp  turf,  turned,  and  walked  on, 
over  the  ridge  of  upland,  out  of  sight  upon  the  other 
side. 

Peace  Polly  and  the  minister  found  the  sun  warm  in 
the  open  meadow,  but  the  air  came  fresh  from  the  river, 
and  the  ground  under  their  feet  was  cool ;  it  was  far  bet 
ter  than  by  the  dusty  road.  They  came  down  upon  a 
shingly  margin  which  sloped  up  from  the  waterside  be 
tween  thickets  of  alder  and  bittersweet  on  the  field  side 
and  button-bushes  on  the  other,  that  stood  in  the  river- 
edge  and  were  all  full  of  blossom  and  song ;  the  round 
balls  of  their  flowers,  bristling  with  their  long  out-thrust 
pistils,  showing  pale-colored  among  the  thick  leafage,  and 
the  close  coverts  of  the  branches  hiding  away  countless 
blackbirds'  nests.  Here  it  was  shaded  and  lovely ;  the 
river  rush  and  ripple  met  and  swept  by  them  as  they 
walked  up  toward  the  mill  landing  and  the  dam. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  pleasant  to  have  one's  daily  work 
by  a  riverside,"  said  Mr.  Innesley. 

"  The  riverside  is  pleasant,"  said  Peace  Polly.  "  But 
wait  till  you  get  into  the  whiz  and  whir  of  the  saws  and 
planes.  You  can't  bring  work,  of  any  active  sort,  you 
can't  even  bring  common  living,  into  the  real  pleasant 
ness  of  natural  places.  You  displace  it  the  minute  you 
come.  It 's  no  use  to  try  to  eat  your  cake,  and  have  it 
too." 

"  Still  all  this  quiet  and  sweetness  is  close  by,"  said  the 
minister.  "  It  is  good  to  know  that.  We  have  to  take 
most  of  our  good  in  that  way  ;  eat  our  needful  bit  of  cake, 
and  be  glad  there  is  more,  or  different,  for  a  different 
kind  of  hunger.  The  closer  we  can  keep  to  the  life  we 
don't  have  to  make  meat  of,  and  the  oftener  we  can  es- 


ALONG   THE  RIVERSIDE.  219 

cape  into  it,  the  better.     I  am  very  thankful  to  get  a 
country  home  at  last." 

"  And  I  have  had  .it  always,  and  have  sometimes  not 
been  thankful  at  all !  "  said  Peace  Polly. 

It  was  not  in  the  least  an  ordinary  young  lady  answer ; 
none  of  Peace  Polly's  were  particular  to  be  that. 

"  You  are  not  impatient  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  for  itself.  But  I  have  sometimes  felt  shut  away, 
—  to  very  few  things  and  people.  It  has  been  different 
lately." 

"  It  has  been  different  to  me  lately,"  said  Mr.  Innes- 
ley.  "  I  came  here  a  stranger ;  and  one  cannot  do  with 
out  friends." 

"Not  even  the  blackbirds  can  do  that,"  said  Peace 
Polly,  blithely.  "Look  at  that  flock  of  them.  They 
have  been  marauding  somewhere ;  and  they  have  come 
back  to  call  together  more  marauders." 

A  cloud  of  the  handsome  creatures  in  their  black  satin 
coats  with  scarlet  epaulets  came  hovering  down,  flut 
tering,  chucking,  chattering,  about  the  round  hedge-tops 
of  the  water-shrubbery,  out  from  which  rustled  and  rushed 
a  home  crowd  to  meet  them;  and  sailing  and  circling 
with  a  great  sound  of  small  strong  wings  churning  the  air, 
the  whole  multitude  of  them  swept  jubilantly  away,  far 
across  the  river,  to  where  full  cornfields  shook  their  green 
banners  in  the  breeze  like  another  army  standing  fast  to 
challenge  them. 

"  It  is  good  to  live  in  a  still  place  if  you  have  wings," 
moralized  Peace  Polly. 

"  I  'm  afraid  human  beings  were  hardly  to  be  trusted 
with  them,  or  they  would  have  been  provided,"  said  the 
minister. 

"  They  have  almost  contrived  them,"  said  Peace  Polly, 
perhaps  catching  willingly  the  chance  to  turn  the  channel 


220  BONNYBOROUGH. 

of  talk  a  little.  "  Do  you  suppose  we  shall  ever  have  the 
real  '  wings  of  the  morning  '  ?  King  David  must  have  got 
a  glimpse  very  far  down  history  and  invention  to  say 
that." 

"  '  The  wings  of  the  morning,'  "  repeated  Mr.  Innesley. 
"  Why,  that  would  mean  to  skim  over  the  meridians  ac 
tually  with  the  sun.  I  don't  think  it  ever  occurred  so  to 
me  before.  We  do  pass  over  a  great  deal  as  mere  poetry 
of  phrasing  that  is  really  a  wonderful  putting  of  fact  or 
possibility.  Miss  Peace,  you  are  always  suggesting  some 
thing  to  me." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  laughed  Peace  Polly,  lightly.  "  Let  me 
suggest  now,  then,  that  we  go  up  this  bank  while  we  can. 
We  shall  be  against  the  bluff  presently,  and  among  the 
lumber-heaps." 

And  with  that,  and  a  moment's  climb,  which  occupied 
their  breath  and  kept  them  apart  as  they  went  up  where 
each  could  best  choose  footing,  they  were  at  the  mill. 


XXIII. 

HARD    KNOTS     AND   SLIPS. 

THEY  went  in  at  the  upper  door  of  the  mill  building 
from  the  bluff  side,  and  came  into  the  great  roaring, 
whirling  moulding-room.  Below,  upon  the  floor  entered 
from  the  riverside,  were  the  saws  and  coarser  planes, 
with  the  hoisting  machinery  and  platforms  taking  up  all 
one  end.  Beneath  the  whole  were  the  engines,  and  the 
water-wheel  in  its  deep  sluiceway  of  solid  mason-work. 

Fizz-z-z  !  z-z-r-r-r !  whackle,  whackle,  —  brattle,  brattle  ! 
It  was  of  no  use  to  speak  here  ;  one  could  only  look. 
Long,  swaying  strips  of  board  were  being  fed  across  frames 
and  rollers,  smitten  and  scored  as  they  passed  by  the  verti 
cal  and  horizontal  chisel-blades,  the  chips  and  shavings  fly 
ing  every  way  as  from  explosives  ;  the  plain,  unornamented 
pine  or  other  wood  slipping  continually  from  the  finished 
end,  no  longer  plain,  but  bended,  banded,  reeded,  grooved, 
even  crenelated,  for  lovely  cornicings  of  ceiling  or  dado. 
There  were  piles  of  finished  pieces  ready  for  sending  off  ; 
there  were  also  heaps  and  heaps  of  fragments. 

While  Peace  Polly  and  Mr.  Innesley  stood  and 
watched  the  workmen  tending  a  long  chiseling  frame,  a 
door  opened  from  a  farther  corner,  and  Lyman  Schott 
came  down  the  room.  He  smiled  to  see  his  sister  ;  she 
did  not  often  come  to  the  mill.  He  gave  courteous  greet 
ing  to  her  companion.  Peace  Polly  beckoned  to  her 
brother  to  come  out  at  the  great  side  door  by  which  she 
had  entered.  She  could  not  tell  her  errand  in  the  dazing 
din  within. 


222  BONNYBOROUfUL 

"I'm  going  to  Mrs.  Farron's,"  she  said,  "  if  you  don't 
mind.  It  will  all  be  right  at  home  without  me,  I  guess." 

"  I  'm  going  over  to  East  Bend,"  said  Lyman.  "  I 
sha'n't  be  back  till  late  in  the  evening."  Nine  o'clock,  by 
the  way,  was  very  late  in  Bonnyborough.  "  I  don't  sup 
pose  that  will  matter.  C.  P.  does  n't  mind  ;  or  perhaps 
he  '11  take  the  drive  with  me.  Any  way,  I  'm  going  up 
to  the  house  first.  I  '11  tell  Rabby  to  look  after  him,  if  he 
won't.  Mr.  Innesley,  I  wish  I  had  time  to  show  you  over 
the  mill." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  should  be  sorry  that  I  have  n't  time 
myself,  if  you  were  at  leisure.  I  '11  come  down  again 
some  day,  if  you  '11  allow.  It  is  an  interesting  place." 

"  When  you  get  at-tumulted,"  said  Peace  Polly.  "  I 
never  have.  And  Lyman  puts  in  a  new  craze  every  year. 
Well,  good-night,  Lyman.  There  are  early  sweet  apples 
baked ;  you  '11  have  them  for  your  supper  when  you  get 
home." 

Lyman  looked  after  them  as  they  walked  along  the  lit 
tle  sandy  table  of  the  bluff  to  the  foot  of  the  green  lane. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  means  to  marry  the  minister,"  quoth 
he. 

What  the  minister  meant  he  did  not  trouble  to  wonder ; 
it  was  so  very  likely  he  would  mean  whatever  Peace 
Polly  would  let  him.  Lyman  had  gotten  over,  if  he  ever 
had  it,  his  doubt  about  Number  One,  or  even  Three.  See 
ing  Polly  with  other  people,  he  had  begun  to  appreciate 
at  second-hand,  as  brothers  sometimes  have  to  do,  her  pe 
culiar  charm.  He  would  not  so  much  have  wondered, 
now,  at  the  three  of  them,  had  there  been  three  in  Bonny- 
borough,  all  coming  forward  as  one  man,  without  separate 
numbering.  He  remembered  another  old  nursery  rhyme : 
The  three  brethren  out  of  Spain  that  came  to  court  my  sis 
ter  Jane. 


HARD  KNOTS  AND  SLIPS.  223 

He  did  not  know  the  quotation  about  single  spies  and 
battalions  ;  but  he  had  a  misgiving  that  when  things 
began  to  happen  they  might  keep  on,  and  that  a  lively 
history  might  follow,  unless  Peace  Polly  were  easier 
suited  in  matrimony  than  in  most  matters.  He  half  hoped, 
to  escape  repetitions  and  complications,  that  Number  One 
might  be  successful.  "  I  don't  suppose,  in  that  case,  she 
need  go  farther  off,  either,  than  her  side  of  the  house,"  he 
got  so  far  as  to  say  to  himself. 

The  "  either  "  was  significant. « 

Peace  Polly  and  Mr.  Innesley  were  half-way  up  the 
lane.  Its  lovely  hedgerows  of  barberry  and  bayberry, 
glossy  catbrier,  and  tossing  clematis  and  creeper,  nearly 
met  in  places  overhead,  and  again  widened  out  or  were 
broken  so  as  to  give  fair  glimpses  of  sweet-framed  coun 
try  pictures.  At  this  midway  point,  they  paused  on  one 
of  those  rounding  heights  that  occur  everywhere  in  this 
region,  and  which  here  made  the  crest-line  of  the  pretty 
climb,  to  look  either  way  from  its  vantage,  seeing  over 
against  them,  townwards,  the  roofs  and  chimneys  and 
porches  of  the  village  street  showing  pleasantly  from  be 
tween  or  against  the  billowy  crowns  and  bosoms  of  rich 
shrubbery  and  old  trees,  and  the  other  way,  farther  off, 
across  the  gleam  of  river  and  the  stretch  of  meadow  and 
.  the  far  sea-flats,  a  horizon  twinkle  which  was  the  shining 
of  the  great  ocean  line. 

"It  seems  to  me  your  Bonnyborough  is  simply  the 
loveliest  place  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Innesley,  taking 
off  his  hat  to  feel  the  breeze  that  crept  lightly  up  from 
seaward. 

"  One  might  like  to  make  the  comparison  and  find  it 
out  for  one's  self,"  said  Peace  Polly.  "  I  've  said  that  be 
fore,  to-day,  have  n't  I  ? " 

"  Something  like  it.    Miss  Peace,  the  working  of  things 


224  BONNYBOROUGH. 

in  this  world  is  sometimes  like  the  work  we  saw  in  your 
brother's  mill.  For  a  while  —  for  half  a  lifetime,  may  be 
—  all  is  flat,  unscored,  uncharacterized.  Then  suddenly 
we  are  put  under  the  wheels  and  chisels,  and  everything 
is  wrought  out  at  once ;  something  beautiful  turns  out 
that  we  had  not  dreamed  of,  and  the  meaning  and  pur 
pose  come  to  light,  swiftly,  in  a  few  crowded  days  or  min 
utes." 

"Or  else  we  go  to  chips,"  said  Peace  Polly.  "There 
are  quantities  of  failures,  and  broken  bits,  —  hard  knots 
in  the  lumber,  you  know,  or  slips  of  the  grain.  You  saw 
them  piled  up  there,  knee -deep.  That  is  all  kindling 
stuff." 

Perhaps  she  felt  the  hurry  of  the  wheels,  and  that  some 
stroke  impended  over  her,  that  she  put  forth  this  little 
feminine  averting  twist.  It  is  a  way  women  have,  even 
when  the  possible  shaping  of  their  lives  has  begun  to  look 
beautiful  to  them. 

If  it  were  likely  that  Peace  Polly  would  be  taken  by 
surprise  by  what  might  come  next,  she  could  be  scarcely 
more  so  than  Mr.  Innesley.  He  spoke  truth  when  he  said 
that  forces  had  a  way  of  concentrating  into  sudden  fate, 
or  the  revelation  of  it.  I  am  sure  he  could  hardly  have 
analyzed  —  so  why  should  we  make  the  attempt  ?  —  the 
course  and  culminating,  during  this  little  walk,  of  feel- . 
ing  and  decision  that  impelled  him  now.  However  that 
might  be,  the  impulse  seized  him,  not  as  a  caprice  or  a 
temptation  to  one  blind  rush  that  should  overbear  un 
certainty  and  settle  all,  to  be  acquiesced  in  then  as  the 
best  or  at  least  the  irrevocable,  but  as  the  summing  into 
clear  conviction,  and  the  sweeping  off  with  power,  all 
that  had  been  either  drawing  or  hindering  him  before. 
At  this  moment  his  whole  mind  and  heart  filled  them 
selves  with  the  desire  and  purpose  toward  whose  avowal 


HARD  KNOTS  AND  SLIPS.  225 

he  pressed  on.  The  woman  stood  beside  him  whom  to 
have  beside  him  all  his  life  would  be  beauty,  joy,  stimulus, 
to  all  that  was  good  or  might  be  great  in  him.  Yet  the 
woman  was  not  wholly  good  or  great,  herself  ;  he  knew 
her  needs ;  but  she  was  growing  with  such  a  sure  and 
vital  force ! 

There  are  moments  in  life  like  moves  at  chess  ;  when 
it  may  be  this  game  or  that  with  us,  and  either  may  seem, 
in  its  after  course,  as  if  it  were  the  right  and  the  only 
one  that  we  could  have  taken.  All  other  combinations 
form  accordingly ;  compensating  opportunities  befall,  and 
ripening  judgments  avail  ;  the  end  may  not  be  losing 
for  us  ;  and  yet  there  was  a  strange  alternative  that  by 
and  by  we  have  almost  or  quite  forgotten,  that  would  have 
made  it  all  another  story.  How  many  other  stories, 
truly,  any  one  of  us  might  have  lived  is  only  known  to 
the  Thought  that  holds  in  itself  all  the  infinite  potential 
variations  of  number,  form,  and  fate. 

Mr.  Innesley  made  answer  first  as  to  that  refuse,  — 
the  hard  knots,  the  slips,  the  shavings. 

"  There  is  a  casting  off  in  everything,"  he  said,  "  that 
the  true  form  may  come.  I  think  that  should  be  the 
courage  of  living." 

It  was  good  for  him  that  he  said  that ;  that  he  met  her 
thought  with  a  reply,  instead  of  urging  his  own  question. 
Peace  Polly  stood  silent,  but  the  light  came  into  her  face 
that  sprang  there  with  any  turning  upon  her  of  a  vision  of 
the  best. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Innesley,  after  a  moment,  "  that 
Bonnyborough  has  really  resolved  itself  for  me  into  one 
point,  —  your  home,  —  your  companionship  there,  Miss 
Peace." 

He  did  not  venture  upon  the    "  yourself,"  which  would 
fain  have  finished  his  sentence. 
15 


226  BONNYBOROUGH. 

The  girl  started  inwardly,  though  to  all  observation  she 
remained  in  utmost  quiet.  It  was  as  when  one  hears  a 
sudden  sound  in  the  night  that  may  be  an  alarm,  and 
with  an  instinct  of  caution  petrifies  one's  self  to  the  non- 
moving  of  an  eyelid,  until  a  clearer  perception  may  come 
of  what  it  is,  or  what  is  to  be  done.  It  may  be  but  the 
motionlessness  of  an  instant,  but  for  the  first  instant  it  is 
that. 

Peace  Polly  was  not  ready  for  him  to  say  more. 
"  Our  home  has  been  pleasanter  than  usual  this  sum 
mer,"  she  said,  easily,  but  feeling  her  way  with  every 
word.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  happened  to  share  the  en 
joyment.  It  has  been  very  good  for  us  to  have  Profes 
sor  Fuller  there." 

It  was  a  great  deal  cooler  and  quieter  than  he  cared 
for ;  but  he  was  in  earnest ;  he  was  not  to  be  dropped  so, 
as  with  a  chance  remark. 

"  Miss  Peace,  that  is  not  all  of  it ;  it  is  —  you  must 
know"  — 

His  hesitation  upon  the  word  ruined  his  opportunity. 
And  yet  it  was  as  well  for  him  that  he  did  not  make  the 
rush.  If  Peace  Polly  could  not  have  stopped  him  for 
that  time,  she  might  have  stopped  him  finally. 

"  Thank  you ;  you  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  rapidly, 
now.  ("  Oh,  dear  ;  I  'm  always  telling  him  he  's  kind .'  ") 
she  parenthesized  with  herself  as  swiftly.  "  Don't  you 
think  we  ought  to  go  on  ?  Mrs.  Farron  will  be  expect 
ing  us.  And  there,"  she  added,  with  relief  that  she  could 
not  keep  out  of  her  voice,  "  comes  Rose  !  " 

Peace  Polly  had  turned  herself  a  little,  imperceptibly, 
while  Mr.  Innesley  had  gone  on  speaking.  She  saw,  as 
he  did  not,  still  facing  down  the  lane,  the  flutter  of  a 
girl's  garment  moving  slowly  toward  them  under  the 
thick  shade  up  beyond.  She  knew  Rose  Howick's  step, 
and  the  delicate  pink  frills  above  the  feet. 


HARD  KNOTS  AND  SLIPS.  227 

Nothing  could  have  more  effectually  silenced  Mr.  In- 
nesley.  There  was  no  longer  a  doubt,  he  thought,  in  his 
mind;  and  he  knew  Rose  Howick  could  have  naught 
against  him ;  they  had  but  been  to  each  other  as  each 
might  be  to  a  score  of  others ;  yet  the  approach  of  no  one 
would  have  so  utterly  postponed  his  speaking. 

The  two  moved  on  up  the  green  ascent,  together.     Of 
course,  in  a  moment  more,  they  met  Rose  Howick. 
was  going  down  to  the  mill,"  she  said,  "to  beg   some 
scraps  of  pretty  moulding  for  my  brackets." 

Her  tone  was  a  little  languid,  and  Peace  Polly  thought 
she  was  a  trifle  pale.  "  Lyman  isn't  there,"  she  said; 
"  there  are  only  the  men,  and  that  old  Morgan.  Come 
back  with  us  ;  I  '11  go  with  you  another  time.  Mr.  Innes- 
ley  came  for  me  to  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Farron,  and  I  've 
dragged  him  all  the  way  around  to  let  Lyman  know." 

Rose  Howick  thought  that  Peace  Polly  had  not  always 
used  so  carefully  to  consider  Lyman,  and  she  imputed  all 
the  difference  to  the  companionship  of  Mr.  Innesley  ;  in 
which  we  know  that  she  was  much  mistaken.  The  pretty 
Rose  was  learning  part  of  her  life-lesson  now ;  but  she 
only  folded  her  sweet  petals  a  little  closer  over  her  own 
heart,  and  hid  the  thing  that  hurt  her  there. 

At  the  end  of  the  rectory  orchard,  they  all  paused. 
"  Come  through  this  way,  won't  you  ?  "  said  Peace  Polly. 
"  I  'm  sure  Mrs.  Farron  is  always  delighted  when  you 
come.  You  must  have  deserted  her,  or  she  would  n't 
have  sent  all  the  way  for  me." 

But  Rose  shook  her  head,  and  bade  them  a  gentle 
good-by.  "  My  mother  wants  me  to-night,"  she  said,  as 
a  child  might,  and  turned  away.  It  was  as  near  as  she 
could  come  to  being  proud  and  cold. 

The  pink  gleam  of  her  muslin  draperies  flitted  across 
the  leaf-latticed  intervals  of  the  shrubbery  as  she  kept  on 


228  BONNYBOROUGH. 

her  way,  and  the  others  followed  the  inside  orchard  path. 
Somehow  these  two  were  very  silent. 

Richard  Innesley  wondered  what  sort  of  consciousness 
or  mistake  might  be  between  the  young  girls  ;  there  was 
something  that  he  would  not  care  to  have  Peace  Polly 
think,  and  there  was  a  smite  of  generous  pain  lest  he 
might,  after  all,  have  been  in  fault  regarding  Rose.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  who  are  hardly  vain  enough  to  be 
readily  conscious  or  evasive  of  such  fault ;  but  then  if  he 
had  been  thus  vain,  the  consciousness  would  not  have  been 
conscience.  It  is  these  kind,  pleasant,  simply  complacent 
ones,  enjoying  as  they  go  along,  and  hardly  supposing 
that  their  conclusions  can  be  paramount  to  any  but  them 
selves,  —  certainly  not  before  they  are  concluded,  —  who 
may  graciously  break  a  heart  or  two. 

Mrs.  Farron  was  altogether  too  wise  a  woman  to  give  so 
much  as  an  alternate  eyelid  flash  to  one  and  the  other  of 
her  young  guests  when  they  came  in ;  but  she  knew,  with 
out  the  stirring  of  an  eyelash,  that  the  position  of  affairs 
was  altered,  ever  so  little ;  that  some  breath  had  touched 
to  a  delicate  poise  what  had  been  before  on  the  mere  safe 
basis  of  every  day.  Of  course  she  had  known  —  and  all 
her  kindly  forecastings  had  been  built  upon  the  fact  — 
that  any  day  this  change  of  equilibrium  might  come.  She 
had  given  it  opportunity.  Well,  that  was  all  that  she  had 
done.  She  was  too  nice,  too  fine,  too  tactful,  to  put  forth 
curious  or  impatient  finger  now.  She  fell  back  into  the 
last  place,  which  few  tacticians  know  the  precise  moment 
to  do,  and  let  that  work  which  had  begun  to  work.  She 
gave  fate  her  own  head,  and  in  a  delicate,  impalpable 
manner  followed  the  lead  of  almost  as  imperceptible  indi 
cations  of  will  or  un-will  on  the  part  of  the  two  —  and  es 
pecially,  with  esprit  de  corps,  on  the  part  of  the  woman  — 
who  had  the  weird  to  dree. 


HARD  KNOTS  AND   SLIPS.  229 

Peace  Polly  lingered  in  the  veranda;  Mrs.  Farron 
perceived  that.  So,  although  the  evening  was  likely  to 
fall  a  little  cool,  and  the  room  inside  was  pleasant  with  the 
low,  bright  light  let  in  between  the  curtains  pushed  widely 
back,  and  a  new  book  of  quaintly  lovely  illustrations  in  fine 
water-color  —  "  My  Lady's  Casket,"  of  symbolic  ornament 
and  triflery  —  was  on  the  table,  where  a  soft  porcelain 
lamp  might  presently  be  lighted,  she  stopped  out  there 
with  them,  and  left  her  little  device  of  graceful  apposite- 
ness  to  take  its  after  chance. 

She  did  not  even  leave  them  once,  though  her  hand 
maiden  came  half-way  through  the  hall  with  the  little  nod 
and  beckon  that  housekeepers  know,  but  said  quite  frankly, 
to  the  considerable  discomfiture  of  the  worthy  feminine 
Balderstone,  "  Yes,  Fidelia ;  two  more  plates  and  cups, 
and  the  daisy  set  and  the  blue  doylies." 

Peace  Polly  watched  the  road ;  and  when  Lyman's 
chestnut  pacer  came  ambling  along,  she  caught  the  sound 
and  the  glimpse  of  shaking,  creamy  mane,  and  ran  down 
the  garden  walk  to  the  gate.  Lyman  was  alone. 

"  Oh,  Ly ! "  she  cried.  "  Stop  here  for  me,  please,  when 
you  come  back.  I  forgot." 

"  All  right.  C.  P.  won't  be  left  by  himself,  after  all, 
Polly.  Doctor  Blithecome  has  sent  for  him." 

"  Oh !  Is  he  worse  again  ?  He  has  been  so  well 
lately  !  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  so.  I'm  afraid  that  matter  will  have  to 
be  decided  soon." 

Peace  Polly  went  slowly  back  to  the  veranda.  "  Dr. 
Blithecome  is  ill,"  she  said.  "  He  has  sent  for  Dr. 
Fuller."  And  at  that  they  were  all  very  shocked  and 
sorry. 

But  it  was  provided  that  the  young  minister's  escort 
should  not  be  needed  for  seeing  Peace  Polly  home. 


230  BONNYBOROUGH. 

All  that  Mrs.  Farron  noted  ;  it  had  not  escaped  Lyman, 
either  ;  each  in  each  one's  own  way  interpreting  it,  know 
ing  Peace  Polly,  her  perpendicularities  and  her  whimsies, 
and  that  these  might  mean  anything,  but  most  assuredly 
did  mean  something. 

Peace  Polly  would  like  to  play  Logomachy.  She  turned 
the  brilliantly  exquisite  leaves  of  the  "  Casket "  with  but  a 
half  sense  of  its  charmingness  and  significance,  and  when 
Mr.  Innesley  came  near  gave  over  the  book  to  him,  to 
whom  it  was  an  utter  blank.  So  Mrs.  Farron  got  out  the 
box  of  letters  and  cleared  the  table,  and  even  called  the 
Doctor,  whom  Peace  Polly  sweetly  suggested,  and  they 
made  'sin'  into  'saint'  and  'strain,'  and  'constraint'  and 
'  consternation ' ;  and  '  hope '  into  '  pother ' ;  and  '  life '  into 
'  lifted  '  and  '  trifled,'  and  '  filtered  '  and  '  reinflated  ' ;  and 
'  far '  into  '  fare,  safer,  falser,  refusal ' ;  and  '  rest '  into 
( tries,'  and  '  strive,'  and  '  restive ' ;  and  wit  got  bewitched, 
and  a  word  was  a  sword  ;  and  then  Peace  Polly  turned 
that  into  '  drowsy,'  and  Lyman's  buggy  was  heard  at  the 
gate,  —  earlier  than  had  been  expected,  for  the  man  at 
East  Bend  had  been  away  from  home,  —  and  the  little 
party  was  broken  up. 

Mrs.  Farron  walked  about  and  put  out  the  lamps. 

"  Did  n't  get  a  new  chapter  into  that  little  romance  to 
night  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  wickedly.  "  Well,  chapters  or 
sermons,  they  won't  always  be  written  when  they  are  bid 
den,  Dora." 

Mrs.  Dora  reached  to  a  high  burner  in  the  hall  as  they 
passed  up-stairs.  With  her  head  very  lofty  as  she  did  so, 
she  said  over  her  shoulder  to  her  spouse,  — 

"  Unconscious  cerebration,  Sebastian.  You  know  your 
sermons  wait  for  that  sometimes.  Why  should  n't  there 
be  other  unconscious  working  to  allow  for,  too  ?  If  1  were 
you,  I  'd  go  to  sleep  and  not  think  about  it*  I  shall." 


XXIV. 

UNCERTAINTIES. 

THERE  are  two  motives  from  either  of  which  a  girl  may 
put  off  a  man,  turning  aside  the  question  which,  once  fairly 
uttered,  may  not  be  put  aside.  She  may  do  it  to  spare 
him  the  refusal  which  she  is  already  certain  she  would 
have  to  give.  This  evasion,  often  as  it  is  resorted  to  in 
novels,  and  possibly  in  real  life,  is  utterly  futile.  A  man 
who  can  be  either  hurt  or  blessed  by  a  woman's  word  will 
take  nothing  short  of  that  clear  word  in  the  end.  And 
Peace  Polly  was  not  the  woman  to  expect  he  should,  or  to 
make  her  own  mere  temporary  escape  in  such  way.  She 
acted  from  the  other  reason.  The  instant  it  flashed  upon 
her  what  he  would  ask,  she  demanded  time  to  search  herself 
for  her  answer.  Upon  her  impulse  she  would  have  said 
no.  She  was  by  no  means  conquered,  to  the  yielding  all 
her  absolute  determination  not  to  like  overmuch  the  man 
who  had  charmed  so  easily  the  young  womankind  of  Bon- 
nyborough,  —  to  the  stoop  of  the  conquering  that  would 
have  that  detestable  village  eclat.  She  put  back  her  im 
pulse,  defeating  his  ;  because  she  would  first  be  sure  there 
was  no  hidden  corner  in  her  where  a  possibility  of  happi 
ness  should  so  be  crushed  into  a  reality  of  pain.  There 
was  nothing  especially  generous  in  this,  except  that  truth 
is  always  the  most  generous  thing.  If  she  had  for  him 
what  he  wanted,  —  and  she  could  only  know  by  this  possi 
bility  or  impossibility  within  herself,  —  she  would  give  him 
that  which  was  honestly  his,  all  Bonnyborough  and  its 


232  BONNYBOROUGH. 

small  honors  and  envies,  or  malices  and  mis  judgments,  to 
the  contrary  nevertheless.  She  would  have  to  look  at 
herself  to  find  this  out. 

Moreover,  a  woman  like  Peace  Polly  will  have  no  mere 
impulse  from  a  man.  She  will  have  that  deliberate,  mas 
terful,  whole  purpose  with  which  only  an  absolute  whole 
ness  of  love  in  a  full-souled  capacity  of  loving  brings  itself 
unmistakably  to  the  demanding  of  its  sentence  from  one 
who  holds  its  life  or  death  —  no,  not  that,  for  it  must  be 
alive  beyond  the  possibility  of  dying,  —  but  its  earthly  ful 
fillment  or  denial  in  her  sole  power.  No  half-ripe  passion, 
sunned  only  on  one  side,  for  her.  It  must  be  full-grown, 
full-sweet.  Some  intuition  told  her  it  had  been  too  soon 
for  that  to-night. 

Yet  if  it  were  coming,  when  it  came  what  should  she 
say  ? 

She  rode  home  with  Lyman,  thinking  all  the  way ;  so 
busily  that  she  did  not  notice  how  very  silent  Lyman  was 
himself. 

It  had  been  different  lately.  Was  it  all  to  go  back  again 
to  the  old  sameness,  the  old  contraction,  or  was  something 
to  come  of  the  temporary  changes  that  should  make  a  dif 
ference  and  a  betterment  always?  The  way  in  which 
Peace  Polly  should  decide  the  pending  question  might  be 
the  answering  of  this.  But  was  this  the  only  hesitancy, 
the  chief  argument  ?  If  so,  the  answer  was  already  ap 
parent. 

Something  had  made  Peace  Polly  happier ;  had  made 
her  feel  as  though  the  old  troubles  could  not  ever  trouble 
her  again  so  much.  She  found  a  new  strength  in  herself, 
a  new  sentiment  toward  Lyman.  Something  had  helped 
her  to  understand  a  little,  to  respect  more,  her  brother. 
Home  life  was  pleasanter ;  she  was  pleasanter  in  her  own 
moods.  Was  all  this  to  vanish  like  a  fairy  glamour  when 


UNCER  TA 1NT1ES.  233 

the  summer  should  be  over,  the  professor  gone,  she  and 
Lyman  left  alone  again,  and  the  dull  winter  coming? 
when  —  but  that '  when '  was  the  if  of  the  whole  matter  — 
she  had  sent  Mr.  Innesley  away  with  a  denial,  and  so 
stopped  short  and  spoiled  her  friendship  with  him  ?  Could 
she  give  up  the  friendship,  and  what  it  might  have  grown 
to,  all  at  once  ? 

What  would  it  have  grown  to  ?  Why  had  she  not  been 
left  to  find  out?  It  is  a  hard  thing  between  man  and 
woman  that  the  one  must  speak  more  or  less  at  a  venture, 
and  the  other,  at  whatever  instant  the  asking  may  come, 
must  answer  for  all  the  days  of  her  life.  Say  yes,  —  or 
else  forever  after  hold  her  peace ! 

Peace  Polly  knew  one  thing  :  she  could  not  bear  to 
lose ;  but  could  she  accept  more  ?  She  wished  that 
friends  would  just  stay  friends  awhile, 

She  had  just  begun  to  be  glad  —  a  little  bit  proud  — 
of  Lyman  ;  then  all  these  good  things,  these  fresh  com 
panionships,  had  added  themselves.  Or,  was  this  way  of 
putting  it  a  transposition  ?  Which  had  come  first  ? 

She  knew  another  thing:  she  would  not  leave  Lyman 
now,  until  she  had  been  more  to  him  ;  until  the  reproach 
of  years  had  been  worn  off  her  conscience  by  some  lasting 
and  repeating  of  new  kindlinesses.  But  here  was  some 
thing  that  need  not  take  her  away  ;  that  might  bring 
more  to  Lyman  instead  of  depriving  him.  She  had  al 
ways  known  she  could  be  better  to  him  if  some  third  ele 
ment  of  life  could  be  introduced.  It  had  begun  to  be  so 
already,  with  a  mere  little  social  enlargement  for  them 
both  ;  just  as  she  had  always  said.  It  was  in  her  hold 
and  choice  now  to  make  this  sure,  and  more  ;  or  to  throw 
it  away,  to  shut  off  the  new  opening  of  the  future  for  her 
self,  to  set  all  things  back  as  they  had  been  in  the  time 
before,  when  she  had  told  Serena,  desperately,  that  she 
did  not  believe  God  meant  to  give  her  anything. 


234  BONNYBOROUG1L 

Her  own  side  of  the  old  house !  That  came  into  her 
mind  as  it  did  into  Lyman's.  That  she  should  open  it, 
and  let  affection,  and  cherishing,  and  daily  happy  minis 
tries,  and  pretty  cares,  and  sweet  appreciations,  in  !  That 
it  should  be  hers,  alive  with  a  home  history,  a  kingdom  of 
which  she  should  be  the  queen  !  If  a  man  —  or  a  woman 
of  masculine  mental  altitude  —  should  happen  to  read 
this  book,  he  need  not  criticise ;  only  a  woman  knows 
how  much  this  home-reigning  is  to  a  woman,  and  how 
close  the  hope  of  it  lies  to  her  early  ideal  of  love. 

She  thought  if  she  had  been  let  alone  a  little  while,  it 
might  have  come  ;  she  was  growing  to  like  Mr.  Innesley, 
and  to  believe  in  him,  so  much.  Her  self-inspection  was 
very  like,  indeed,  —  but  she  did  not  know  it  so,  —  that 
aforesaid  wide-awake  kind  of  watching  to  see  if  one  is 
going  to  fall  asleep. 

In  the  midst  of  the  watching,  it  may  come,  no  doubt ; 
there  is  from  that  instant,  however,  no  question  or  watch 
ing  any  longer.  There  will  be  nothing  but  the  beautiful, 
vivid  dream.  And  one  may  be  startled  from  it,  and 
prevented,  by  too  soon  or  solicitous  querying  of  its  ap 
proach. 

There  was  something  away  back  behind  her  questioning 
that  she  did  not  reach,  or  analyze  ;  a  certain  sense  that 
some  calm  or  safety,  otherwise  endangered,  or  open  to 
risk,  which  she  dared  not  meet,  depended  upon  her  ac 
tion.  Peace  Polly  knew  enough  of  herself  —  she  did  not 
ask  or  guess  how  recently  the  knowledge  might  have  come 
—  to  be  sure  that  something  in  her  might  be  terribly  in 
tense  if  ever  it  should  be  roused  ;  some  pain  of  thwart 
ing,  that  might  be  only  to  be  evaded  by  a  quiet  fore- 
ordering,  a  prevention,  a  preoccupation  in  some  settled, 
determined,  accepted  tranquillity.  And  she  thought  she 
knew  that  of  the  world  which  told  her  that  the  alternative 


UNCERTAINTIES.  235 

—  the  satisfying  of  that  in  her  which  was  so  deep,  so  su 
preme,  that  it  could  be  so  thwarted  and  so  suffer  —  was 
not  in  any  human,  natural  likelihood. 

"  For  people's  stories  are  half  told  before  they  can 
have  grown  to  that,"  she  said  to  herself  in  a  vague  way, 
thinking  what  love  might  come  to  be,  yes,  what  it  ought 
to  be.  "  I  hardly  think  they  ever  find  each  other  in  time. 
Or  perhaps  it  is  ordered  that  they  begin  so  young  that 
they  may  begin  low  down,  and  grow  to  it  together." 

She  had  time  to  think  these  things  well  over  in  those 
next  few  days.  Nothing  of  all  her  usual  interests  and 
occupations  hindered  her.  Everybody  about  her  was  all 
at  once  especially  and  individually  absorbed  in  some  way. 
The  close  little  friendly  circle  was  disintegrated.  Each 
one  had  some  new  circumstance,  apparently,  to  meet.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  little  summer-history  had  suddenly  come 
to  a  crisis  in  all  its  points. 

Lyman  went  once  or  twice  to  East  Bend.  He  looked 
tired,  and  was  silent.  "  I  think  Lyman  seems  worried," 
said  Serena  Wyse. 

"  He  has  too  much  to  do,"  said  Peace  PoUy.  "  But 
there  is  no  use  in  telling  him  so." 

Mr.  Innesley  was  away  for  a  brief  visit  to  his  family. 
He  had  told  them  that  evening  at  Mrs.  Farron's  that  he 
should  be.  His  mother  expected  him,  he  said,  this  once 
more  before  he  entered  upon  the  rectorship,  and  made 
his  fixed  home  here.  It  was  settled  that  after  receiving 
his  orders  he  should  be  instituted  over  the  parish  in  Bon- 
nyborough. 

He  had  come  to  The  Knolls  before  leaving,  but  Peace 
Polly  was  at  Serena  Wyse's.  Her  window  looked  well 
up  and  down  the  road,  and  commanded  the  grass-walk 
from  the  low  gate.  It  was  very  easy  to  be  off  up  the 
diagonal  field-path  and  behind  the  Wyse-Place  hedge, 


236  BONNYBOROUGIL 

while  any  comer  was  approaching  at  the  front.  Few  per 
sons  got  in  at  The  Knolls  except  when  its  young  mistress 
was  quite  ready  and  pleased  to  receive  them.  Rebecca- 
rabby  knew  very  well  what  devolved  upon  her,  when  she 
caught  from  her  kitchen-bedroom  window  of  an  afternoon 
the  sudden  flit  of  light  raiment  along  the  green  slope.  It 
was  to  take  her  at  least  three  minutes  to  answer  the  fall 
of  the  ancient  knocker  at  the  fore  door ;  and  she  usually 
came  down  the  long  hall  with  her  knitting-work  still  click 
ing  in  her  fingers.  Whoever  saw  from  the  threshold  this 
easy  advance  understood  beforehand  her  leisurely,  sole 
possession  of  the  premises. 

"  She  's  stepped  out  somewers,"  she  announced  midway 
to  Mr.  Innesley,  with  the  simple  reference  of  the  pronoun. 
"An'  't  ain't  more  'n  problymatikell  she'll  be  in  agin." 
The  statement  closed  without  a  word  of  limitation.  Noah's 
dove  could  not  have  found  less  excuse  for  lingering  upon 
the  uncertain  waters  than  Mr.  Innesley  here.  He  was 
disappointed,  but  not  quenched.  It  had  happened  before ; 
it  was  the  way  of  the  house.  When  Peace  Polly  "  stepped 
out,"  the  place  was  void  ;  the  great  mansion  was  a  life 
less  waste  ;  Rebeccarabby  was  but  as  an  owl  of  the  desert, 
a  pelican  of  the  wilderness,  emphasizing  the  solitude. 

Mr.  Innesley  could  but  turn  away  with  a  polite  regret ; 
early  the  next  morning  he  had  to  leave  Bonnyborough. 

Peace  Polly  could  not  explain,  even  to  herself,  why  she 
ran  away  from  him  so  childishly.  It  was  childish,  absurd, 
useless,  she  admitted  in  her  own  mind  ;  but  it  was  an  in 
stinct. 

She  analyzed  that  also ;  she  said  if  she  had  hated  him,  — 
and  she  thought  she  should  almost  hate  a  man  who  wanted 
to  marry  her,  if  she  did  not  like  him,  —  she  should  have 
stayed  quietly,  and  told  him  so,  or  a  polite  equivalent. 

Mr.  Innesley  was  good  ;    he  was  fine    in  nature  ;  she 


UNCERTAINTIES.  237 

had  found  him  out  to  be  even  something  great.  He  was 
"kind,"  and  she  "begged  his  pardon." 

That  was  precisely  the  attitude  of  her  mind  toward  him 
when  this  farther  question  had  loomed  upon  her.  It  was 
a  little  too  soon  ;  was  that  all  ? 

Undoubtedly  many  a  germinating  growth  has  death 
dealt  to  it  in  a  too  curious  inquisition.  Peace  Polly  might 
be  right  to  hide  her  heart  and  run  away  with  it,  for  a 
little  time. 

He  was  a  good  man  ;  that  was  what  Serena  Wyse  had 
said  of  Lyman.  But  Serena  had  never  married  Lyman. 
Was  she  waiting  also,  all  her  life  through,  for  something 
to  which  she  could  altogether  give  herself  ?  And  would 
that  ever  come  in  Lyman  ?  Was  that  the  way  people  had 
to  do,  or  marry  on  possibilities  ? 

Ideals.  She  had  heard  of  them  ;  the  word  had  not 
had  much  force  to  her  till  now.  Now  she  knew  it  was 
what  people  waited  for,  or  went  without. 

She  sent  a  rapid  reconnoissance  all  through  her  present 
world,  —  the  world  of  persons  and  characters  she  had  con 
tact  with.  Where  was  there  one  who  filled  the  demand 
she  knew  she  should  make  sooner  or  later,  or  find  her 
life  a  fragment,  thrown  away,  perhaps  ?  And  after  all, 
what  right  had  she  to  make  such  high  demand  ?  She 
waived  that  last  question,  or  met  it  with  the  half -conscious 
answer,  the  right  of  need.  She  must  have  some  things, 
claim  or  no  claim. 

It  took  hardly  as  many  seconds  as  there  were  individ 
uals  to  pass  in  review  all  the  marriageable  or  impossible- 
to-marry  young  manhood  of  Bonnyborough.  She  swept 
them  all  aside  as  one,  as  utterly  aside  already  from  any 
question.  There  was  no  hero,  no  ideal,  among  them. 
Marriage  might  develop,  —  very  well,  let  some  of  those 
girls,  who  were  none  of  them  of  her  own  age,  try  the  ex 
periment. 


238  BONNYBOROUGH. 

She  thought  over  the  married  people.  Where  was  the 
life-idyl  that  she  would  have  thought  it  happy  to  have 
lived  ?  Where  was  the  man  whose  wife  was  the  woman, 
like  a  Lady  Grandison,  to  be  the  worshiped  of  the  world 
for  having  found  and  won  the  sole  and  peerless  knight 
and  gentleman  ?  (Not  that  she  would  have  wanted  Sir 
Charles,  either  !) 

There  was  Dr.  Farron.  She  began  with  him.  She 
reverenced  him ;  she  was  fond  of  him  in  a  daughterly 
way,  or  what  would  have  been  so  with  a  little  more  of  in 
timacy  and  of  the  fatherly  kindness  he  had  always  ready 
for  her.  He  was  a  high,  pure,  gentle,  scholarly,  saintly 
man.  But  she  could  never  have  been  Mrs.  Dora,  and 
have  had  him  to  say,  "  Wine  !  "  to  her ! 

There  was  Dr.  Blithecome,  another  fatherly  friend, 
whom  she  had  known  ever  since  she  was  born.  Now  he 
was  going  to  die,  and  she  was  very  sorry.  But  that  life 
Mrs.  Blithecome  had  lived,  with  just  the  dear,  prosy,  com 
fortable,  comforting  old  physician  jogging  to  and  fro, 
never  quite  her  own ;  mending  his  worn  trousers  that  the 
everlasting  jogging  in  the  old  buggy  frayed  out  so  in 
the  larger  parts,  and  always  finding  the  right  shirt-cuff 
broken-edged  with  the  rubbing  of  the  driving-hand  ;  mix 
ing  up  "simple  syrup"  for  his  medicaments,  and  making 
out  his  bills  from  his  confused  day-book,  full  of  crosses 
and  interrogations  that  meant  foregoing,  certain  loss,  or 
kindly  intent  of  reduction.  She  did  not  think  that  forty 
years  ago  she  would  have  cared  to  rival  her  for  whom  the 
years  were  laid  out  like  that. 

At  last  here  was  Dr.  Fuller.  She  came  round  to  him 
slowly,  as  with  her  last  thought  held  behind  her,  and  here 
her  judgments  paused,  silent.  Perhaps  she  had  better  not 
count  him  in.  He  was  so  different.  He  was  neither 
young  nor  old.  His  "  story  was  half  told,"  as  she  had 


UNCERTAINTIES.  239 

said.  He  was  not  at  the  beginning  point,  neither  had  he 
proved  it  all.  And  his  wife  had  gone  away  from  him  to 
Europe  !  She  wondered  why  she  felt  so  angry  with  Mrs. 
C.  P.,  when  the  woman  came  thus  into  her  recollection. 
She  would  not  ask  herself  if  there  might  be  another  C.  P. 
in  the  world,  since  here  was  this  one,  or  what  such  a  per 
son  might  be  to  herself  if  they  could  find  each  other  — 
young. 

She  put  him  away,  unjudged  ;  he  was  quite  different. 
She  did  not  care  to  think  him  over  now.  But  those  two 
letters  of  his  name  stood  illuminated  in  her  alphabet. 
She  would  so  like  to  know  what  they  meant.  She 
could  n't  help  thinking  of  them,  he  was  so  often  called 
C.  P. ;  and  then,  from  Mrs.  Farron's  "  Confucius  Plato," 
"  Charles  Pretender,"  "  Christian  Potentate,"  "  Chief  Po 
lice,"  to  Miss  Mallis's  '  Collector  of  Pollywogs,"  there 
were  so  many  plays  upon  possible  interpretations.  It  was 
like  Logomachy ;  it  ran  in  your  head,  with  all  sorts  of  va 
riations.  For  all  that,  if  anybody  could  have  told  her,  she 
would  not  have  listened.  She  liked  to  have  Dr.  Fuller 
explain  himself  ;  or  not,  if  he  chose.  Name  or  history, 
she  would  have  pried  into  neither.  But  if  Dr.  Fuller, 
by  any  chance,  could  ever  bestow  a  voluntary  confidence 
upon  her  !  She  could  think  of  nothing  more  beautiful 
than  to  be  placed  so  high  as  that  in  his  friendship. 

After  all,  did  she  want  anything  better  in  this  world 
than  beautiful  friendship  ?  If  friends  would  stay  friends  ; 
but  you  can  hold  to  nobody.  They  will  go  off ;  they  will 
get  married  ;  they  cannot  belong  to  you,  except  for  bet 
ter,  for  worse.  Which  reflection  brought  her  back  al 
most  to  her  starting-point :  that  so  they  are  to  be  taken 
first,  and  proved  afterward.  Was  it  not  put  into  the  very 
marriage  service  ? 

In  one  of  these  moods,  her  dream  came  suddenly  back 
to  her. 


240  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Was  there  but  one  great  Friendship,  in  which  all  oth 
ers  live  ?  Is  the  ideal  only,  and  forever,  filled  in  that  ? 
Does  that  hold  all  manhood  and  all  womanhood,  making 
them  one  in  itself?  Leading,  and  protecting,  and  per 
fecting  them  ;  lifting  up,  that  it  may  set  side  by  side,  and 
little  by  little  show  and  give  them  all  things  ?  Were 
there  myriad  little  names,  little  abiding-places,  put  each 
for  each,  in  some  tender  ordering ;  none  central,  none 
complete  or  supreme,  only  sharing,  imaging ;  giving  in 
partial,  lesser  ways  some  expression,  some  reminder,  of 
that  which  was  only  full  in  Him,  the  Lord  ?  "  Ye  are 
complete  in  Him,"  she  remembered.  Was  this  the  inter 
pretation  of  her  dream,  and  had  the  time  come  in  her  life 
for  her  to  read  it  ? 

Whatever  happened,  should  she  not  always  have  the 
Mighty  One  ?  Yes,  if  she  belonged ;  and  that  brought  up 
other  questions. 

Truly,  life  was  deepening  all  at  once  for  her.  And  it 
was  not  that  she  was  weak  or  inconsistent,  this  straight, 
true,  positive,  sometimes  impetuous  girl,  that  it  looked  un 
certain.  It  is  shallowness  that  decides  instantly;  that 
always  thinks  it  knows  what  it  is  about.  And  whatever 
Peace  Polly  was,  she  was  not  shallow. 


XXV. 

MRS.  DORA'S   BALCONY. 

DR.  BLITHECOME  had  had  several  motives  in  persuad 
ing  Dr.  Fuller  to  come  this  summer  to  Bonnyborough. 
He  had  great  faith  in  the  younger  man,  so  much  younger 
than  himself,  yet  fast  settling  into  middle  age,  and  still 
not  following  regularly  his  profession.  The  elder  phy 
sician  did  not  think  that  this  was  good.  He  believed 
in  direct  work  among  his  fellow-men,  as  well  as  in  the 
knowledges  that  are  to  advance  them  and  meet  more  and 
more  their  practical  needs.  He  would  have  these  fol 
lowed,  but  he  would  have  them  put  in  practice  as  they 
went  along.  And  he  was  persuaded  that  it  would  be 
better  for  C.  P.  himself  to  come  more  in  daily  contact,  to 
have  his  sympathies  kept  more  fully  in  play,  with  those 
around  him,  and  in  a  widening  sphere.  Beside  which,  he 
knew  that,  however  strongly  or  for  whatever  interval  he 
might  himself  rally  to  his  work,  his  days  were  but  briefly 
numbered.  He  wanted  this  man,  whom  he  believed  in,  to 
lean  upon  in  the  last  days  when  his  own  skill  would  not 
help  him,  and  he  would  gladly  induce  him  to  take  up  the 
labor  that  he  was  laying  down.  He  would  do  this  service 
to  his  own  old  people,  whom  he  loved  and  was  going  to 
leave. 

And  C.  P.  had  come,  thinking  that  perhaps  his  old 
friend  was  right,  and  that  it  might  turn  out  according  to 
his  plan.  He  had  quite  understood  all  the  thought  and 
desire  of  the  beloved  old  doctor  for  him,  as  well  as  for 
Bonnyborough  and  himself. 


242  BONNYBOROUGH. 

And  then  he  had  found  his  way  into  the  home  at  The 
Knolls,  and  now,  like  Peace  Polly,  he  was  faltering  be 
fore  his  decision. 

Why  should  he  not  ?  The  duty,  the  consideration,  that 
had  lain  upon  him  elsewhere  had  been  removed,  at  any 
rate  for  the  time.  And  when  its  claim  should  return 
upon  him,  possibly  the  two  might  be  reconciled.  He 
would  willingly  plant  a  home  and  form  associations  for 
his  boys  where  life  might  be  so  clean  and  safe  and  sim 
ple  ;  even  if  they  came  to  it  half  spoiled,  as  he  had  half 
dreaded,  with  this  experiment  abroad ;  even  if  it  were 
only  home  to  them,  as  might  be,  for  a  portion  of  the 
year.  Perhaps  he  would  have  them  a  little  to  himself,  in 
this  division  of  dwelling-places.  It  had  looked  like  a  fair 
and  reasonable  hope  and  motive. 

But  now,  something  that  he  could  not  have  foreseen 
had  made  a  hardness  and  a  doubt  for  him.  Now,  in  a 
way  that  he  had  never  looked  for  it,  a  struggle  had  come. 
Why  must  this  also  be  added,  at  last  ?  Had  there  not 
been  enough  before  ?  Was  not  blank,  was  not  negative, 
enough,  without  this  real  and  positive  pain  ? 

So  he  talked  with  himself  now,  upon  his  solitary  drives 
that  he  took  for  Dr.  Blithecome,  facing  it,  admitting  that 
it  had  come. 

He  had  not  had  much  work  to  do,  thus  far,  in  Bonny- 
borough;  there  had  been  little  sickness,  and  Dr.  Blithe- 
come  had  been  well.  He  had  accompanied  the  old  phy 
sician —  of  whom  one  of  his  patients  had  said  that  he 
would  rather  see  his  horse  at  the  gate  than  have  any 
other  doctor  come  in  and  prescribe  —  occasionally  in  his 
rounds,  and  held  gig-consultations  with  him  on  some  more 
important  or  interesting  cases ;  he  had  sometimes  gone 
into  the  sick-rooms,  and  he  had  had  a  bell  hung  in  his 
own  chamber,  that  could  be  rung  from  the  west  porch, 


MRS.  DORA'S  BALCONY.  243 

out  of  hearing  of  the  family,  and  had  taken  some  sudden 
night  cases  which  Dr.  Blithecome  felt  obliged  to  refuse  : 
but  all  this  had  been  the  merest  introduction.  His  work 
was  now  to  begin.  How  far  it  should  go  on  was  the  point 
he  must  determine. 

He  could  not  turn  his  back  upon  Bonnyborough  now, 
for  any  reason  whatsoever.  He  must  stay  and  see  his 
dear  friend  through.  That  might  be  a  duty  of  days,  or 
weeks,  or  months.  C.  P.  was  curiously  perplexed.  He 
could  have  laughed  at  it,  but  for  a  spasm  that  caught  him 
at  the  heart. 

Could  he  stay  and  bear  it  all  ?  Would  it  be  any  worse 
here  than  elsewhere  ?  Would  not  the  fact  remain  the 
same,  that  thing  that  he  must  put  from  him,  the  "  might 
have  been  "  that  now  could  never  be  ? 

For  he  had  seen  it  now,  the  central  denial,  the  certain 
sentence  of  his  life.  Whatever  freedom  might  come  to 
him  henceforth,  this  would  never  come  again.  In  the 
midst  of  his  trouble  he  found  a  place  for  thankfulness. 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  known  this  beforehand, 
years  before,  when  he  might  therefore  have  acted  differ 
ently.  There  was  this  mystery  in  the  untold  story  :  he 
was  glad  he  had  not  acted  differently.  And  now,  he  had 
to  be  glad,  also,  that  there  was  nobody  else  to  be  the  less 
happy  on  his  account.  He  was  satisfied  that  the  story 
had  remained  untold,  and  that  there  could  not  possibly, 
with  anybody  else,  be  a  hard  mistake. 

He  would  like  to  be  quite  sure  of  this  last  thing,  that 
somebody  else,  by  a  superseding  experience,  was  alto 
gether  beyond  the  question,  beyond  all  possible  concern 
in  anything  that  accident  might  bring;  he  thought  that 
would  show  itself  soon  ;  in  that  case,  it  would  only  matter 
to  himself.  What  difference,  then,  if  he  gave  up,  and 
endured  a  little  more  ? 


244  BONNYBOROUGH. 

It  occurred  to  him,  one  day,  that  Mrs.  Farron  might 
help  him.  He  wanted  another  eye,  another  conscience,  to 
look  at  his  position  with  him.  He  could  not  trouble  Dr. 
Blithecome.  Dr.  Farron  ?  Well,  it  was  a  woman  he 
wanted,  after  all.  A  woman  would  understand  best  about 
another  woman.  And  Mrs.  Farron  was  bright,  and  wide 
awake,  and  kind ;  and  nothing,  he  thought,  escaped  her. 
Mrs.  Farron  had  been  at  the  best  point  for  seeing  all. 
She  would  know,  or  guess  shrewdly,  what  he  might  other 
wise  have  to  wait  for.  And  he  had  not  time  to  wait. 

So  one  of  these  days,  he  walked  over,  in  mid-afternoon, 
the  time  of  Dr.  Farron's  daily  nap,  to  the  rectory,  and 
asked  Mrs.  Farron  if  she  could  give  him  a  quiet  half 
hour. 

Mrs.  Farron  took  him  through  the  little  drawing-room, 
and  up  a  twisted  staircase  balustered  with  wild-vine  stems, 
that  led  from  the  veranda  corner  to  a  balcony  above,  lat 
ticed  and  shielded  with  swinging  tapestries  of  woodbine 
and  Japanese  ivies.  Here  were  low  chairs,  and  her  little 
work  and  book  table.  Down  below,  now,  she  was  not  at 
home.  She  had  given  orders  against  admissions.  She 
was  altogether  at  Dr.  Fuller's  service  for  that  quiet  half 
hour.  She  saw  plainly  that  he  had  come  to  tell  her  some 
thing  ;  Mrs.  Dora  was  used  to  people  coming  to  her  to 
tell  her  things. 

I  am  not  going  to  repeat  to  you  what  he  said  to  her. 
He  surprised  her  utterly ;  he  overset  all  her  schemes  and 
theories  and  wishes ;  he  made  her  at  last  start  almost  to 
her  feet,  and  cry  out,  with  her  hands  held  up  clenched 
before  her  with  rigid  elbows,  as  if  they  were  manacled 
things,  — 

"  And  I  can  do  nothing,  nothing  !  I  have  tied  my  own 
hands !  What  a  fool  I  have  been  !  "  With  this  wonder 
ful  admission  for  Mrs.  Dora,  she  sank  down  limp  into  her 
chair. 


MRS.  DORA'S  BALCONY.  245 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  the  professor,  "  you  forget  that 
nobody  can  do  anything.  All  remains  precisely  as  it  was 
before.  The  same  obligations  bind  me,  the  same  circum 
stances  restrict.  It  is  only  that  some  things  cannot  al 
ways  continue  unexplained,  and  there  would  still  be  that 
left  which  could  never  be  explained.  And  in  the  mean 
time,  unless  I  could  stay  here  under  a  hopeless  certainty, 
I  had  better  not  try  to  stay  here  at  all !  "  At  which  grim 
paradox  crowning  his  enigma,  C.  P.  himself  was  con 
strained  to  smile. 

"  There  could  be  ever  so  much  done,  and  circumstances 
alter  ;  we  are  in  a  changing  world.  The  very  possibility 
would  be  based  on  different  circumstances,  if  you  would 
not  be  —  lucif erously  —  proud  !  If  I  had  only  thought 
that  Providence  had  this  in  store  !  I  '11  never  meddle 
with  Providence  again.  Oh,  I  could  do  twenty  things! 
And  I  am  a  traitress  this  minute,  and  can  do  nothing !  " 
Into  this  incoherence  Mrs.  Dora  relapsed  and  wandered, 
her  head  quite  lost  for  the  minute  with  the  shock. 

It  was  half  nonsense ;  deep  feeling  took  refuge  in  half 
nonsense  with  Mrs.  Dora.  She  quieted  herself  presently, 
and  said  gently,  — 

"  Stay,  Dr.  Fuller.  You  have  an  errand  and  a  work 
here.  You  cannot  leave  it  now.  Providence  does  un 
ravel  things  for  us,  when  we  most  perversely  tangle  them ; 
that 's  the  rough-hewn  ends,  and  we  've  Shakspeare  be 
sides  the  Bible  on  our  side.  Wait  and  see.  Fortunately 
the  other  thing  has  gone  beyond  my  help  or  hindrance. 
I  can  sit  still,  if  I  can !  Don't  you  see  it  all  rests  with 
the  child  herself  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  you  still  ignore  the  afterward !  " 

"  Let  the  afterward  take  care  of  itself.  Stay  here  ;  I 
tell  you  so,  and  I  'm  a  wise  woman,  especially  when  I  'm 
just  convinced  I  've  been  a  fool !  Don't  try  to  plan,  or 


246  BONNYBOROUGH. 

look  ahead.  Do  the  duty  nearest  to  you.  Stay  with  your 
friend,  and  decide  nothing  more." 

To  her  husband,  that  night,  Mrs.  Dora  said  suddenly, 
"  C.  P.  is  a  Cunning  Patriarch.  He 's  been  as  wise  here 
in  Bonnyborough  as  Abraham  was  among  the  Philistines, 
and  almost  as  wicked.  If  you  'd  told  me  before,  you  'd 
have  saved  me  lots  of  trouble." 

Dr.  Farron  lifted  up  his  eyes.  "  Which  you  need  not 
have  taken,  probably,  in  any  case,  my  dear,"  he  replied, 
on  general  principles.  "  But  what  is  the  particular  dif 
ficulty  now  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  begin  to  tell  you,  and  you  could  n't  begin 
to  understand.  It  has  got  to  work  itself  out.  It 's  every 
body,  and  I  'm  afraid  somebody  has  got  to  be  hurt.  How 
should  you  feel,  Sebastian,  if  you  had  put  a  log  of  wood 
on  a  railroad  track,  and  saw  the  train  coming  ?  " 

"As  if  I  had  better  take  it  off  again,  even  if  I  got 
smashed  myself,  in  doing  it." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  n't  a  log,  after  all.  It 's  another  train, 
sent  full  tilt  down  the  same  track.  It  will  have  to  stop  it 
self,  —  I  can  do  nothing,  and  I  am  afraid  I  have  done  it 
all !  everybody  is  smashed !  "  The  little  lady  laughed, 
and  then  burst  into  tears. 

"  Nobody  has  ever  done  all  of  anything,"  said  the  good 
Sebastian,  laying  his  hand  softly  on  her  head. 

"  I  know,"  she  answered,  between  sobs  and  smiles.  "  I 
take  a  great  deal  too  much  upon  myself,  sometimes." 

"  Especially  when  you  take  to  self-blame  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  Dora,  stoutly.  "  I  won't  steal  comfort 
that  way.  Sebastian,  say  the  i  never-failing  Providence  ' 
prayer,  and  the  one  about  the  '  abundance  of  mercy,'  and 
*  the  things  whereof  our  conscience  is  afraid.' " 


XXVI. 

THEY   SAY. 

BEFORE  the  persons  concerned  concluded  anything,  the 
usual  thing  happened.  While  they  were  musing,  a  little 
fire  burned,  and  ran  through  the  village,  amusing  that,  un 
doubtedly.  A  breath  took  word,  and  became  a  thing  that 
was  said,  repeated,  until  everybody  was  saying,  or  said 
to  be  saying  it.  For  the  particular  property  of  this  kind 
of  word  is  that  it  is  nobody's  property  or  owning,  but  that 
each  one  has  heard  that  somebody  else  has  asserted  it. 
It  was  one  of  those  words  that  nobody  authorized  could 
have  spoken  ;  it  bred  itself  in  the  air.  It  did  not  set  off, 
full-grown  at  once :  it  floated  as  a  germ ;  it  took  to  itself 
indistinct  shape,  and  wiggled,  as  a  faint  interrogation- 
point  ;  it  got  transposed  and  wafted  along ;  it  found  its 
element ;  its  slight  wiggle  of  a  question-mark  dropped  off 
in  its  development ;  the  tadpole  became  a  frog,  and  sat  up 
and  croaked.  If  this  natural  analogy  be  not  correct  in 
all  particulars,  I  cannot  help  it ;  I  only  do  as  the  scien 
tists,  giving  simply  that  which  I  have  observed,  not  claim 
ing  a  perfect  theory. 

The  word  was  that  the  new  rector  to-be  was  jilting 
Rose  Howick,  and  that  Peace  Polly  Schott  "  could  have 
him  any  day ; "  that  he  had  "  as  good  as  asked  her." 

That  does  not  sound  graceful  or  refined ;  it  is,  indeed, 
very  obviously  vulgar.  But  I  am  telling  you  of  a  slimy 
frog ;  and  that  is  the  way  a  slimy  frog  hopped  and 
croaked  in  the  marsh-levels  of  Bonnyborough  society. 


248  BONNYBOROUGH. 

And  any  society  may  be  at  a  marsh-level  for  a  moment, 
when  it  drops  to  talking  snakes  and  toads  instead  of  dia 
monds  and  pearls.  And  a  reptile  is  a  reptile,  though  it 
be  shaped  in  jewels. 

This  "  they  say  "  was  a  reptile  that  might  fatally  have 
hurt  three  persons ;  and  it  certainly  did  hurt  one. 

It  is  noticeable  that  there  is  usually  in  any  neighbor 
hood  where  such  germ-stuff  gets  astir,  some  individual  who, 
if  not  altogether  responsible,  is  yet  pretty  sure  to  be  a 
fountain-head  of  information  ;  to  know  just  what  they  say, 
and  how  long  they  have  been  saying  it ;  who  appears  to 
be  the  nucleus  of  the  nebula,  but  who,  when  you  approach 
closely,  resolves  herself  —  it  is  ordinarily,  I  fear,  her  self 
—  into  the  minutest  innocent  hazy  particles  of  vague  idea, 
or  the  recipient  of  such,  of  which  the  centre  is  nowhere. 
There  are  only  a  good  many  of  them,  and  converging,  as 
it  were,  about  her. 

In  Bonnyborough,  this  person  was  Miss  Mallis. 

Now,  really,  there  was  not  more  malice,  spelt  as  the 
common  noun,  and  I  think  hardly  so  much,  in  Miss  Mer- 
curia  than  in  other  people,  notwithstanding  her  significant 
patronymic.  She  could  not  help  what  she  inherited,  of 
name  or  nature,  and  evidently  she  was  a  u  born  gossip ; " 
and  of  perfect  gossiphood  malice  is  undoubtedly  a  large 
element ;  but  notwithstanding  the  undeniable  entail  of 
Mallis  proper  in  her  family,  she  seemed  in  her  heredity 
to  have  received  but  this  other  complement  of  the  gossip 
character,  the  newsiness  and  relish  for  small  knowledge, 
particularly  the  first  sharp  guess  at  anything,  with  also  a 
certain  shrewdness  and  brightness  that  can  make  the 
guess  supply  unfinished  links,  and  put  the  whole  with 
cleverness,  and  which  cannot  resist  a  keen  venture  or  a 
capital  joke. 

So,  naturally,  everybody  who  heard  anything  pungent 


THEY  SAY.  249 

or  pregnant  turned  in  thought  or  reference  to  Miss  Mallis. 
She,  if  anybody,  could  tell  what  it  all  meant.  She,  if 
anybody,  so  felt  the  victims  of  report,  was  to  blame  for 
the  currency.  At  any  rate,  she  could  do  more  than  any 
body  to  stop  it,  if  she  chose.  This,  perhaps,  was  rather 
hard  upon  Miss  Mallis. 

When  this  particular  lively  batrachian  utterance  reached 
Rose  Howick's  ears,  —  and  here  is  another  mystery  like 
to  the  lost  link  of  creation,  namely,  who  it  is  that  repeats 
the  croak  to  the  person  most  painfully  interested,  —  it 
struck  hard  on  her  poor  little  heart. 

"  Do  they  say  that  of  me  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  betraying 
thrill  in  her  tone  that  might  have  gone  even  to  the  heart 
of  a  frog ;  though  she  put  on  a  brave  face  for  the  mo 
ment,  and  made  believe  to  laugh.  "  I  suppose  he  will  jilt 
us  all,  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  for  one.  A  man  has 
a  right  to  be  generally  agreeable  until  he  does  that, 
has  n't  he  ?  And  I  'm  sure  he  never  made  his  mind  up 
for  me !  " 

They  thought  she  took  it  very  well.  That  clever  little 
touch  about  their  all  being  jilted,  as  if  no  particular  ad 
miration  had  fallen  to  her  share,  went  far  to  pacify  the 
envious. 

"Rose  Howick  is  no  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Farron,  when 
they  told  her  of  it.  That  might  have  meant  that  she  had 
been  equal  to  this  especial  emergency,  or  that  she  was  not 
so  weak  as  that  there  should  be  any  emergency  at  all. 

But  the  trouble  weighed  secretly  with  Rose,  that  she 
should  be  so  talked  about ;  she  tried  to  persuade  herself 
that  that  was  all. 

"  Peace  Polly  would  hate  it  as  much  as  I,"  she  thought. 
"  I  wonder  if  they  have  dared  to  say  anything  to  her !  " 
and  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  would  be  a  comfort  if 
they  two  could  understand  one  another  about  it.  She  did 


250  BONNYBOROUGH. 

not  put  it  to  herself  that  by  understanding  with  Peace 
Polly  she  might  learn  at  once,  perhaps,  how  the  truth  lay, 
and  take  all  her  misery  at  a  draught,  or  throw  it  away 
entirely.  She  was  not  miserable  at  all,  she  insisted,  ex 
cept  that  people  should  say  such  things.  "I  have  not 
deserved  it !  "  she  cried  in  her  heart.  And  indeed,  the 
sweet,  pure  Rose,  that  had  never  even  nodded  her  fair 
head  with  a  coquetry,  had  not  deserved  it.  She  had  only 
bloomed  and  been  delightful.  That  somebody  had  found 
her  so  as  he  passed  by,  was  that  a  strange,  new  thing  ? 
But  somehow  it  had  not  seemed  to  be  just  in  passing  by. 

"  Peace  Polly  is  a  brave,  true  girl.  I  will  go  and  see 
her."  And  so  one  warm,  still  morning  she  walked  in  at 
The  Knolls. 


XXVII. 

PEACE  POLLY'S  SKIRMISHES. 

PEACE  POLLY  was  in  the  large,  light  pantry,  papering 
jars  and  glasses  of  blackberry  jam.  She  sat  before  the 
broad  table-shelf  on  a  high  red  stool,  with  a  gingham  bib- 
apron  on,  the  tip  of  one  little  foot  resting  upon  the  edge  of 
a  wooden  chair  half  pushed  under  the  shelf.  With  the 
other  heel  upon  the  rung  of  her  "  housekeeper's  throne," 
she  rose  and  reached,  when  necessary,  to  right  and  left 
among  her  tumblers  and  preserves,  taking  down  the  empty 
glasses,  and  ranging  in  rich,  sparkling  order  those  she  filled 
and  covered.  She  sang  a  little  as  she  worked,  but  there 
was  a  slight  preoccupation  in  the  song,  which  ceased  now 
and  then  in  mid-measure,  and  then  began  again  where  it 
had  left  off,  or  at  some  da  capo,  as  might  happen. 

To  her  Rebeccarabby  ushered  in  Rose  Howick  without 
ceremony,  pushing  wide  open  the  door  that  led  in  from  the 
hall.  Another  stood  pleasantly  thrown  back  between  the 
pantry  shelves  into  the  cool,  clean,  shaded  kitchen,  where 
the  breakfast  fire  had  gone  out  long  ago. 

"  Here  's  comp'ny  f er  ye,  Peace  Polly  !  I  'm  goin'  up 
ter  fix  the  ell  bedroom  f  er  Aunt  Pamely  Chirke.  She  '11 
be  here  Monday.  —  'T  '11  dew  her  good  ter  talk  young  a 
little,"  Rabby  said  to  herself,  confidingly,  as  she  went  off. 
"  She  's  awful  sober  sence  all  them  *  tall  an'  wise  an' 
rev'rund  heads '  hez  been  r'arin'  raound.  An'  Lyman, 
he  's  iz  dull  latterly  'z  an  old  cheese-knife.  'T  ain't  good 
fer  Peace  Polly,  'n  never  wuz.  Fust  it  riled  her  all  up, 


252  BONNYBOROUGH. 

an'  now  it 's  meachin'  her  all  down.  Seems  ter  me  the 
Lord  's  kinder  goin'  ter  'xtremes  with  her.  I  s'pose  He 
knows,  but  I  wish  't  He  'd  see  fit  ter  try  a  middlin'  course 
awhile.  She  's  gitt'n  most  too  chassened  down  to  be 
nat'rul." 

The  rumble  of  her  soliloquy  came  back  down  the  ell 
stairway,  but  she  had  fortunately  shut  the  door  after  her 
at  the  foot. 

Peace  Polly  slipped  off  her  elevation,  and  bade  Rose 
pleasant  welcome.  She  fetched  a  chair  from  the  hall,  and 
placed  it  for  her.  "  If  you  don't  mind  my  housewifery  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  like  it.  It  means  something.  Peace  Polly,  it 
is  so  still  and  nice  out  here !  I  'm  so  tired  of  the  village 
street  and  a  front  garden,  and  the  neighbors  and  the 
passing  and  the  talk!  The  Knolls  is  just  lovely,  and 
you  're  always  strong  and  real.  I  believe  in  you,  Peace 
Polly." 

"  Thank  you,  Rose.  I  'm  not  so  sweet  as  you,  but  I 
don't  make  believe  —  any  more  than  you  do,"  she  added, 
lest  the  other  words  might  sound  ambiguous. 

"  You  can  live  to  yourself  out  here,"  Rose  began  again, 
but  stopped.  "No,  I  don't  suppose  people  can  live  to 
themselves,  or  die  to  themselves,  anywhere.  It  doesn't 
seem  so." 

"  It  was  n't  meant  so,  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  that  way.  Peace  Polly,  do  you  know 
the  things  they  are  saying  about  us  ?  " 

Peace  Polly  looked  at  her  companion.  She  saw  that 
she  was  pale,  and  that  the  corners  of  the  pretty  mouth 
quivered  and  drooped. 

"You're  tired,  Rose,"  she  told  her,  "with  your  long 
walk.  You  don't  look  strong  lately.  See  here,  you  must 
have  a  little  bit  of  lunch  before  you  say  another  word." 


PEACE  POLLTS  SKIRMISHES.  253 

She  took  down  a  tall,  slender  jelly-glass,  whose  contents 
shone  ruby  clear  as  she  held  it  to  the  light.  Out  of  a  corner 
of  the  pantry  she  brought  forward  an  ice-pitcher ;  poured 
the  cold  water  into  one  of  her  prettiest  tumblers  from  a 
narrow  shelf  at  the  china-end  of  the  double-serving  closet, 
where  the  delicate  glass  stood  in  glittering  rows ;  dropped 
in  some  spoonfuls  of  the  congealed  fruit-juice,  and  added 
a  sip  of  raspberry  vinegar  and  a  lump  of  sugar ;  stirred 
these  together  till  the  liquid  was  clear  and  bright,  and  set 
it  beside  Rose.  Then  from  a  huge  stone  jar  she  produced 
thin,  crackling  caraway  cakes,  and  piled  them  upon  a 
plate  of  porcelain  wreathed  with  pale  pink  roses.  "  Just 
on  purpose  for  you,  and  just  like  you,"  she  said,  caress 
ingly. 

Peace  Polly  did  not  often  caress,  even  by  a  word,  and  the 
other  young  girl  felt  it.  The  tears  started  and  trembled  in 
the  deep,  soft  gray  eyes. 

Peace  PoUy  noted  it.  All  she  said  was,  "Take  the 
shrub,  Rose  ;  it  will  do  you  good.  And  eat  the  cookies." 

"  Cookies  !     Those  ambrosial  things  cookies !  " 

"  They  're  cooked,  any  way,"  said  Peace  Polly,  lightly. 
"  They  did  n't  rain  down.  They  are  n't  manna." 

Rose  nibbled.  The  dainty  cakes  beguiled  her;  they 
tasted  good  in  spite  of  trouble.  She  drank  the  cool  cur 
rant-water,  and  was  refreshed.  But  it  was  only  to  say  the 
say  she  came  for.  She  pushed  back  the  pretty  plate  care 
fully.  The  movement  was  somehow  like  putting  away 
the  prettiness  of  roses  that  were  not  really  for  her,  after 
all. 

"  Peace  Polly,"  she  said,  "  it  may  be  true  of  you  —  this 
story  that  they  tell.  I  'm  sure  I  'm  very  glad  —  for  you  — 
if  it  is.  But  it 's  different  for  me.  It 's  cruel !  And  it 's  a 
shame  that  they  should  say  it  of  Mr.  Innesley !  He  never 
flirted  with  me  —  never  !  So  how  could  I  be  "  — 


254  BONNYBOROUGH. 

She  could  not  say  the  ugly  word. 

The  quiver  of  the  lip,  the  great,  pleading  pain  in  the 
eyes,  the  paleness  changing  to  a  hot  flush,  the  pause,  —  all 
said  enough. 

Peace  Polly  swung  round  softly  on  her  stool,  reaching 
out  two  kind  hands.  She  put  them  on  Rose  Howick's 
shoulders.  She  looked  at  her  as  a  strong  elder  woman 
might  have  looked.  "  Tell  me  the  whole,  Rose,"  she 
said. 

Rebeccarabby  would  hardly  have  called  this  "  talking 
young."  Up-stairs  she  was  wondering  already  that  she 
did  not  hear  "  them  gaels  laugh  out  like  gaels."  "  Seems 
ter  me  the  world 's  turned  gray,"  she  said.  "  It 's  gitt'n 
t'  be  the'  ain't  no  healthy  nonsense  in  it !  " 

"  Tell  me  what  they  say  about  me,"  said  Peace  Polly. 
And  she  let  her  hands  fall  away  from  Rose's  shoulders  as 
softly  as  they  had  touched  them ;  but  she  kept  her  eyes, 
full  and  strong  and  steady,  on  Rose's  eyes. 

If  Rose  had  known  what  was  pulsing  through  Peace 
Polly's  thought  as  she  so  looked  at  her  ! 

"  Could  I  care  like  that,  though  they  said  a  dozen  men 
had  jilted  me  ?  Should  I  grow  pale,  and  would  the  tears 
and  flushes  come,  if  another  girl  —  if  Rose  Howick — were 
going,  possibly,  to  marry  —  anybody  ?  Not  this  man,  — 
not  Mr.  Innesley,  surely.  I  could  give  him  to  Rose  to 
morrow,  to  make  her  happy.  I  do  not  love  him,  and  she 
does !  " 

All  this  was  plain  as  in  day-glare,  before  that  sad, 
sweet,  troubled  face ;  in  hearing  of  that  wrathful-tender 
voice. 

And  something  all  the  while,  unwhispered  even  in 
thought,  unlocked  at,  told  Peace  Polly  what  such  a  trouble, 
such  an  indignant  pain,  might  be.  Only,  in  her  case,  she 
knew  it  would  not  be  so  meek,  so  gentle.  She  would  have 


PEACE  POLLY'S  SKIRMISHES.  255 

been  raging,  even  if  silent ;  she  would  have  been  silent,  be 
cause  she  was  so  raging,  —  against  herself  and  the  whole 
mean,  bitter  world.  Her  own  cheek  flushed,  and  her  own 
eye  kindled,  as  she  felt  this,  and  would  not  think  about  it. 

Rose  thought  she  was  guessing  and  growing  angry.  She 
was  half  afraid  that  it  might  be  with  her. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Peace  Polly,  firmly. 

"They  say,"  said  Rose,  "that  you  are  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Innesley.  No,  that  you  can  marry  him,  if  you  choose  ; 
that  he  has  asked  you.  And  I  am  sure  they  can  have  no 
right.  Why  will  they  meddle  with  people  so  ?  " 

"  Rose,"  said  Peace  Polly,  deliberately,  "  look  at  me." 

The  girls'  eyes  met.  Maidenhood  —  pained,  insulted, 
haughty,  sorry  —  stood  in  them,  each  to  each. 

"  They  will,  because  they  were  never  girls.  They  have 
been  nothing  all  their  lives  but  old  maids,  —  in  dread  or  in 
reality  ;  and  because  they  have  forgotten  that  they  were 
ever  women.  And  listen,  Rose  !  I  am  not  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Innesley,  and  he  has  not  asked  me." 

The  swift  relief,  the  rapturous  glow,  the  shining  and 
softening  in  the  still  gazing  eyes,  —  did  these  again  tell 
any  story  that  Peace  Polly  knew  ?  Could  anything  ever 
happen,  anything  be  contradicted,  or  explained,  or  undone, 
that  would  make  her  feel  and  look  like  that  ? 

"  I  do  not  want  to  know,"  she  answered  herself.  "  But 
until  there  is  something  that  could  make  me  feel  like  that, 
there  can  be  no  word  with  me  of  marriage." 

"  Now,  dear,"  she  said  to  Rose,  "  we  will  go  away  and 
talk  of  something  else." 

And  so  they  did.  They  went  away  into  the  garden ; 
they  drank  fresh  water  from  the  rock-spring ;  they  wan 
dered  down  to  the  brookside,  and  Rose  got  her  hands  full 
of  lovely  ferns  and  the  last  cardinal  blossoms,  and  as  they 
came  back  again  broke  off  the  first  sweet  day-lilies  from 
beside  the  grass-walk  at  the  front. 


256  BONNYBOROUGH. 

How  the  day  had  changed  for  both !  Peace  Polly  was 
clear,  now,  what  she  was  to  do.  She  was  nearly  happy 
that  she  had  not  this  to  do  that  had  seemed  perhaps  to  be 
set  for  her.  "  Friends  are  best,"  she  said  again  to  herself. 
"  And  the  world  is  God's  world,  and  all  the  nobleness  in 
it  is  for  those  who  can  find  and  feel  it." 

Her  musing,  between  the  common,  pleasant,  girlish  sen 
tences  she  said  to  Rose,  lifted  itself  inwardly  with  the 
memory  of  that  chant  of  prayer,  "  Make  me  to  be  num 
bered  with  thy  saints,  in  glory  everlasting." 

Another  sentence  of  the  book  she  was  to  "  experience," 
unrolling  suddenly  all  life  and  its  secret  from  its  wonder 
ful  syllables  !  If  only  that !  To  be  numbered  with  "  the 
blessed  company  "  !  One  might  forget  any  separate,  self 
ish  wish  or  claim,  in  that  oneness  with  all  light  and  joy  ; 
that  dwelling  with  all  great,  true  spirits  in  the  atmosphere, 
—  the  moving,  living  realities  of  God,  —  his  very  out- 
shows  of  Himself  in  every  new  and  beautiful  amazement 
to  them,  —  the  Glory  Everlasting  ! 

Some  little,  little  glimpses,  —  one  near  approach  to  one 
who  knew  and  reverenced  and  dwelt  in  them,  —  a  little 
kindness  of  sympathy  and  recognition  between  herself 
and  him,  —  only  a  friendship,  and  may  be  merely  for  a 
time,  —  had  had  power  to  open  up  all  this,  to  so  content 
her.  In  these  moments,  she  thought  it  had  been,  could 
be,  absolute  content.  She  could  even  let  it  go,  and  wait 
till  somehow  more  of  it,  or  more  like  it,  or  more,  even, 
than  it  had  ever  yet  been,  should  come  again  to  her,  since 
it  had  been  begun,  and  it  had  made  her  feel  so  sure. 

She  did  not  ask  then  whether  it  could  have  been  com 
ing  to  her  with  that  yet  unspoken  word  of  Mr.  Innesley's  ; 
whether  they  two  might  not  begin  low  down  and  grow  to 
all  height  together.  Something  had  interposed  that  had 
changed  all  that;  had  thrown  a  sudden  light  upon  it, 


PEACE  POLLTS  SKIRMISHES.  257 

making  it  strange  that  it  had  ever  been  a  question,  as 
even  yesterday  it  had  been.  Rose  Howick's  tears  and 
blushes,  her  full,  anxious  heart  so  guilelessly  betrayed, 
had  put  it  quite  away  as  something  belonging  elsewhere, 
—  that  she  knew  by  the  very  token  could  not  possibly 
belong  to  herself.  Nothing  had  ever  happened  that  could 
have  made  her  feel  as  Rose  felt  now. 

It  mattered  not  that  it  would  not  have  been  with  her 
either  tears,  or  blushes,  or  self-revelation.  Whatever  it 
would  have  been  with  her  would  not  have  been,  as  this 
was  with  Rose  Howick,  for  Richard  Innesley.  She  knew 
that  now.  There  was  something  in  her  as  yet  unawak- 
ened  :  oh,  yes,  quite  unawakened  !  There  was  no  ques 
tion  of  it  now,  for  any  one.  Oh,  friends  were  best ! 

The  recollection  and  significance  of  her  dream  swept 
over  her.  She  had  been  lifted  to  the  height  of  a  man's 
shoulder  ;  she  had  seen  lovely,  marvelous  things.  And 
somehow,  it  was  all  the  gift  and  the  will  of  the  King  of 
the  Great  Country. 

"  I  believe,  —  I  believe,"  she  said  to  herself,  exult- 
ingly,  "  in  the  Lord  and  Giver  of  life,  and  in  the  Com 
munion  of  Saints !  " 

All  this  while  she  walked  and  talked,  simply,  sweetly, 
with  Rose  Howick,  of  any  common  little  surrounding 
things. 

Rose  thought  she  had  never  found  her  so  simple-sweet 
before. 

When  Rose  said  that  she  would  go,  Peace  Polly  told 
her  she  would  walk  down  the  street  with  her.  "  They 
may  as  well  see  that  we  understand  each  other,"  she  said. 

Rose  smiled.  "  Oh,  that  was  what  I  did  want  so,"  she 
answered. 

Peace  Polly  stopped  and  said  good-by  at  Miss  Mallis's 
white  front  door. 

17 


258  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Are  you  going  in  there  ?  "  Rose  asked  her,  with  a 
little  shudder.  And  then  Peace  Polly  knew  that  she  was 
quite  right  in  going. 

Miss  Mallis  knew  by  Peace  Polly's  face  what  she  had 
come  for.  There  was  an  errand  in  it ;  one  that  made  no 
little  ordinary  preface,  but  showed  there  in  a  quiet  deter 
mination  ;  waiting  only  to  pass  by  the  ordinary  formulae 
of  reception.  These  met  only  the  answer  of  dignified  in 
clination  and  measured  thanks. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Miss  Mallis,  because  you  usually 
know  everything." 

This  was  said  with  the  coolest  gentleness.  There  was 
no  onslaught ;  it  was  an  orderly  advance. 

Miss  Mallis  put  on  instantly,  as  she  was  capable,  a 
coolness  to  match.  Underneath  that  was  fun,  utterly 
good-humored.  From  her  altitude  of  years  and  experi 
ence,  she  looked  down  on  Peace  Polly's  little  fume  as 
simply  a  thing  to  amuse  herself  with.  There  was  noth 
ing  bad  in  Miss  Mallis  ;  she  was  only  as  impertinent  and 
as  much  at  home  with  everything  in  which  she  had  no  real 
business  as  a  house-fly.  She  nodded  to  Peace  Polly's  re 
mark  as  half  accepting  its  attribution,  but  lifted  her  eye 
brows  in  slight  counteracting  deprecation. 

"  Possibly  you  expect  a  little  too  much,  Peace  Polly." 

The  name,  with  its  every-day  comfortable  assumption, 
saved  the  distance  of  the  speech  from  offense-defensive- 
ness  ;  and  then  Miss  Mallis  waited  easily,  at  guard. 

"  It  has  come  round  to  me,"  said  Peace  Polly,  without 
a  feature-movement  except  such  as  was  necessary  for 
speech,  "  that  '  they  say,'  here  in  Bonnyborough,  where 
they  say  everything,  that  I  will,  or  can  if  I  will,  marry 
Mr.  Innesley." 

"  They  do  say  so,"  answered  Miss  Mallis,  '  at  parade.' 
Inwardly,  she  commented,  "Doesn't  look  like  a  girl  in 
that  position.  I  'm  free  to  confess." 


PEACE  POLLTS   SKIRMISHES.  259 

"  Say-soes  have  to  be  singular  before  they  are  plural," 
remarked  Peace  Polly. 

Here  was  a  thrust ;  but  Miss  Mallis  fenced  well. 

"  Well,  why  do  you  come  to  me  about  it  ?  I  'm  not 
the  most  singular  person  in  Bonny  borough." 

"  You  are  most  in  the  possessive  case." 

Miss  Mallis  laughed.  "  Of  news,  and  the  facts  of  the 
news  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  am,  usually,  —  except,  of  course, 
the  parties  in  question." 

"  People  should  n't  be  in  question !  "  said  Peace  Polly, 
indignantly. 

"  Should  n't  they  ?     Then  they  should  n't  be  alive." 

"  Miss  Mallis,  you  can  stop  this  talk." 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  don't  think  anything  but  events  can." 

"  There  won't  be  any  events,  if  everybody  meddles." 
That  was  off  guard,  but  Peace  Polly  was  thinking  of 
Rose.  She  thoroughly  puzzled  Miss  Mallis,  however. 

"  What  would  you  like  ?  "  she  demanded,  in  genuine 
earnest.  "  That  I  should  go  about  saying,  '  The  minister 
does  n't  want  Peace  Polly,  after  all ;  if  she  thinks  he 
does,  she  's  over-Schott  herself '  ?  " 

"  If  you  like.  It  would  be  better  than  the  other.  At 
any  rate,  he  would  n't  suppose  I  had  started  that.  And 
if  you  thought  I  wanted  the  minister,  the  other  would  be 
the  surest  way  of  spoiling  my  chance."  She  said  it  as 
coolly  as  if  she  were  talking  over  somebody  else. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  my  heart  you  do  !  "  said  Miss  Mal 
lis  ;  "  you  're  too  calm  and  collected  about  it.  But  that 
does  n't  prove  you  can't,  And  the  story  runs  that  way, 
I  think  you  said  ?  " 

"  Miss  Mallis,  see  here."  Peace  Polly,  by  a  sudden 
inspiration,  changed  her  ground.  It  was  great  general 
ship.  On  the  very  battlefield  she  discerned  points  which 
had  not  been  taken  into  account,  and  adapted  her  manceu- 


2GO  BONNYBOROUGH. 

vres  to  them.  "  If  I  say  something  that  I  ask  you  not  to 
repeat  or  to  hint  at,  I  do  not  believe  you  will." 

"  Your  good  opinion  is  invaluable  to  me,  little  Peace  ; 
and  I  think  you  are  so  far  justified  in  it." 

Peace  Polly  was  as  good  as  a  charade,  Miss  Mallis  was 
thinking. 

"  Suppose  some  one  else,  here  or  elsewhere,  did  care  ?  " 

"  Now,  Peace  Polly,  fight  fair,  either  with  or  against 
me.  What  do  you  put  in  '  elsewhere  '  for  ?  The  minister 
is  n't  elsewhere  ?  " 

"  He  is,  at  this  very  moment.  But  I  will  fight  fair. 
I  put  it  in  because  —  I  'm  a  girl,  Miss  Mallis  ;  and  I  can 
be  proud  for  another  girl !  " 

Miss  Mallis  looked  at  her  with  the  very  best  of  herself 
showing  in  the  look.  "  I  like  that,"  she  answered.  "  Well, 
we  '11  name  no  names,  and  we  11  let  the  place  alone.  So 
you  don't  mean  to  have  the  minister  ?  He  may  go  to  — 
Greenland  for  an  Eskimo  —  for  all  you  ?  " 

"  Miss  Mallis,  he  has  never  come  for  me  at  all ;  and  I 
don't  believe  he  ever  will.  Since  you  will  think  me  over 
in  that  way,  you  may  have  the  plain  truth.  It  can  only 
hurt  everybody  to  have  such  things  said.  If  you  please, 
you  will  stop  them."  And  Peace  Polly  stood  up  to  go. 

"  Is  that  an  order,  or  an  allowance  again  of  my  won 
derful  capacity  ?  "  Miss  Mallis  rose  also. 

"  It  is,  —  whichever  you  like  best.  I  think  I  have  a 
right  to  speak."  Miss  Mallis  moved  with  her  toward  the 
door. 

"  Now,  Peace  Polly,  look  here ;  I  like  this  of  you.  I 
think  it 's  fine.  You  have  n't  madded  me  a  bit.  I  'm 
all  on  your  side.  It 's  better  fun  than  the  other.  You 
act  up  to  what  you  Ve  said,  and  I  '11  undertake  Bonny- 
borough.  They  say  everything  here,  as  you  observed; 
one  thing  as  quick  as  the  other,  so  it  is  something.  Peo- 


PEACE,  POLLTS  SKIRMISHES.  261 

pie  must  talk,  as  they  must  eat ;  and  they  don't  ever  object 
to  a  second  or  third  course,  when  they  've  had  about 
enough  of  the  first.  If  everybody  came  up  to  the  scratch 
like  you,  there  would  n't  be  half  so  much  scratching.  And 
after  all,"  she  added,  as  she  opened  the  white  door,  "  I  'd 
full  rather  it  would  be  —  the  Eskimo  —  that  they  say  has 
been  left  out  in  the  cold  —  if  only  "  — 

But  Peace  Polly  was  swiftly  beyond  reach  of  her  "  if 
only." 

This  was  on  a  Saturday.  Late  that  evening  Mr.  In- 
nesley  arrived,  and  was  in  his  place  in  the  chancel  on 
Sunday,  as  had  been  expected. 

Peace  Polly  walked  over  to  the  Presbyterian  church 
with  Lyman  and  Serena.  She  did  not  mean  to  run  away 
from  Mr.  Innesley  again,  but  she  meant  to  see  him,  when 
she  should  do  so,  of  a  purpose,  and  not  casually.  So  she 
went  to-day  and  listened  to  Mr.  Dawney. 

Miss  Mallis  stopped  Mrs.  Howick  on  the  stone  steps, 
when  service  was  over,  and  drew  her  into  the  porch  again. 
Rose  would  have  passed  on,  but  Miss  Mallis  caught  her 
back.  "  I  want  you,  my  dear,  presently,"  she  said. 

But  she  made  her  business  with  Rose's  mother  long 
enough  to  keep  them  all  till  Mr.  Innesley  had  come  down 
the  aisle.  Everybody  greeted  him,  but  he  never  stayed 
long  for  any.  Mrs.  Howick  held  out  her  hand  as  he  came 
near.  That  was  no  more  than  usual  and  unavoidable ; 
and  Mrs.  Howick  had  not  heard  the  gossip  that  had  hurt 
Rose. 

"  Rose,  my  dear  !  "  she  said,  remindingly.  Rose  turned, 
obedient,  lifting  up  the  prettiest  possible  flushed,  sweet 
face.  "  We  are  glad  to  see  you  back,  Mr.  Innesley,"  she 
said,  with  the  gentle  sort  of  dignity  a  flower  might  have, 
bent  backward  by  a  breath  upon  its  stalk. 


262  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Miss  Mallis  and  Rose,  the  minister  and  Mrs.  Howick, 
left  the  porch  together.  Mr.  Howick,  who  was  a  warden, 
came  out  a  moment  later.  The  group  moved  slowly  up 
the  village  street,  under  its  colonnade  of  elms.  Miss 
Mallis  was  first  at  her  own  door.  She  slipped  from  Rose's 
side,  who  somehow  forgot  to  notice. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  loud  and  clear,  so  that  one  or  two 
heads  among  the  little  stream  of  people  turned  to  look. 
Mrs.  Howick,  pausing  to  return  the  word,  was  joined  by 
her  husband.  Mr.  Innesley  walked  forward  with  Rose, 
who,  recollecting  herself,  had  nodded  back  to  Miss  Mallis, 
and  kept  on.  And  all  the  little  stream  of  people  that 
came  up  behind  could  see. 

At  the  next  corner,  the  Presbyterian  congregation  was 
coming  down.  The  Schotts  and  Miss  Serena  turned  and 
went  up  just  far  enough  ahead  to  be  out  of  reach  except 
by  determined  effort.  It  happened  precisely  as  Miss 
Mercuria  had  foreseen  and  planned. 

The  Dawneys  and  the  Holistons  and  the  Cramhalls  fell 
in  together  between,  amicably  mingling  the  different  de 
nominational  currents.  Heads  turned,  and  eyes  glanced, 
either  way. 

"  Well,  that 's  funny  !  "  said  Dianthe  Holiston.  "  I 
thought  all  that  was  over  with." 

"  How  could  he  help  it  ?  "  demanded  Jenny  Cramhall. 

"Peace  Polly  Schott  can  help  anything  she  has  a  mind 
to." 

"  And  she  has  n't  a  mind  to  be  talked  about.  That 's 
all.  Peace  Polly  's  deep." 

"  I  believe  it 's  all  great  nonsense,"  said  Ruth  Dawney. 
"  Miss  Mallis  don't  give  in  to  it.  She  just  said,  ' per- 
adventure ! '  to  me  last  night,  in  such  a  brimful  way,  with 
her  eyebrows  up.  That  meant,  *  You  '11  all  know  better 
by  and  by.'  " 


PEACE  POLLY'S  SKIRMISHES.  263 

"  Miss  Mallis  hedges,"  said  Dianthe,  who  visited  at 
Broadhills,  had  seen  the  races,  and  had  betted  gloves,  and 
delighted  in  a  little  knowing  slanginess.  "  She  means  to 
come  out  right  either  way." 

"  She  '11  take  her  eyebrows  down  in  time  to  come  out 
with  an  '  I  told  you  so,'  if  there  's  any  likehood,"  said 
Roxy,  the  eldest  of  the  Cramhall  "  girls,"  whose  only  title 
to  the  classification  was  in  the  circumstance  of  younger 
sisters,  and  the  convenience  of  mentioning  the  family  in 
the  aggregate.  "  There  is  n't  a  much  safer  Old  Prob  than 
Merky  Mallis,  —  you  may  rely  on  that." 

Roxy  could  not,  for  the  life  of  her,  refrain  from  saying 
"  Merky  Mallis,"  though  it  betrayed  and  reminded  of  the 
fact  of  ancient  school-fellowship.  It  made  great  impression 
on  the  younger  girls,  who  had  not  known  the  sharp,  spry 
spinster  so,  and  were  a  good  deal  afraid  of  her. 

It  may  be  said  that  for  the  next  few  days,  at  least,  Bon- 
nyborough  was  wavering.  Of  a  consequence,  lively,  but 
uncomfortable ;  like  a  fish  on  a  hook,  for  example. 

Mr.  Innesley  did  not  quite  thoroughly  enjoy  his  walk 
with  Rose,  though  he  could  scarcely  have  told  why.  It 
was  not  clear  to  his  mind  that  it  was  because  she  was  an 
impediment,  by  any  means  ;  he  would  not  so  much  have 
minded,  if  it  had  been  Miss  Mallis  herself ;  then,  indeed,  he 
might  have  been  pretty  honestly  sure  that  he  would  rather 
have  had  other  company,  which  was  the  state  of  mind  he 
knew  he  ought  to  have  been  in.  It  was  a  little  too  pleasant 
to  have  Rose  smile  up  at  him,  out  of  the  first  restraint  and 
shyness  that  he  was  slightly  puzzled  with,  but  that  his  kind 
words  soon  broke  through  ;  and  if  with  the  puzzle  there 
came  a  beguiling  wish  to  know  the  reason  of  the  gentle 
withdrawal,  there  was  certainly  something  rather  of  his 
conscience  than  his  will  that  made  him  put  it  by. 

Richard  Innesley  was  just  a  little  puzzled  with  himself. 


264  BONNYBOROUGH. 

His  full  intent,  he  thought  his  full  desire,  was  toward 
Peace  Polly;  but  the  little  overstrain  he  felt' with  her, 
the  very  utmost  of  him  that  so  recognized  her,  was  curi 
ously  let  down  into  something  a  wee  bit  restful,  a  sense 
of  mere  Adam-happiness  more  simply  paradisiacal,  beside 
this  delicious,  tender,  womanly  little  Eve.  He  had  not 
reached  the  tenderness  of  Peace  Polly.  If  that  were  for 
him,  indeed,  or  for  any  man,  his  whole  reason  and  under 
standing  told  him  it  might  be  something  deeper,  richer, 
rarer,  than  is  given  ordinarily  to  any  common  Adam. 

He  had  set  out  for  the  apples  of  Hesperides  ;  he  need 
not  be  blamed  if  he  found  himself  less  than  a  Hercules, 
who  could  support  the  whole  vault  of  heaven  with  un 
wearied  shoulders  as  a  service  for  them. 

Such  a  thought  as  that  never  occurred  to  him,  however  ; 
there  was  only  an  unbending,  of  whose  repose  he  had  just 
the  consciousness  to  make  him  turn  away  from  it  with  a 
jealousness  of  quick  integrity.  He  was  no  flirt ;  he  was 
no  man  with  double  meaning  ;  he  was  only  not  a  Hercules. 
He  might  surely  wish  that  Peace  Polly,  when  they  came 
to  know  each  other  well,  when  they  had  reached  the  ease 
of  sure  affection,  might  sometimes  be  a  little  sweetly 
commonplace  with  him. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Monday,  he  went  over  to  The  Knolls. 

Peace  Polly  was  sitting  on  the  doorsill,  a  basket  of 
colored  yarns  beside  her,  a  rug-strip  that  she  was  dili 
gently  knitting  in  some  new  fashion,  with  tufts  and  twine, 
hanging  across  her  lap  as  she  worked  upon  it.  A  basket 
chair  was  on  the  broad  stone  step,  unoccupied.  This  was 
as  things  were  apt  to  be  in  that  pleasant  fore  doorway ; 
but  it  was  curiously  ready  for  the  minister  and  his  errand  ; 
as  well  preconsidered,  perhaps,  as  the  outlook  from  the 
bay-window  overhead  and  the  run  up  the  field-path  had 
been  that  last  time  of  his  coming.  It  was  all  far  too  ready 
for  any  hopes  he  might  have  come  with  now. 


PEACE  POLLY'S  SKIRMISHES.  265 

As  he  let  the  gate  fall  to  behind  him,  Peace  Polly  rose 
up.  She  dropped  her  trailing  strip  and  ball  back  upon  her 
cushion,  and  came  down  the  walk  to  meet  him.  That  was 
pleasant,  but  there  was  not  a  trace  of  shyness  in  it ;  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  he  would  rather  she  had  been  a  little  shy. 

Peace  Polly  was  all  alone.  Lyman  was  at  the  mill,  of 
course.  Rebeccarabby  was  in  the  kitchen  regions,  absorbed 
in  expectation  and  in  last  items  of  preparation  —  which 
would  always  last  till  the  final  minute  —  for  the  arrival  of 
Mrs.  Pamela  Chirke.  Dr.  Fuller  was  away,  as  he  was 
constantly  now,  on  duty  with  and  for  Dr.  Blithecome. 

Mr.  Innesley  took  the  basket  chair  which  Peace  Polly 
offered  him.  The  girl  herself  quietly  resumed  her  work. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  find  you,"  the  minister  began. 

"  I  am  almost  always  to  be  found,"  returned  Peace 
Polly,  with  a  smile. 

A  finch  in  the  great  linden-tree  over  their  heads  filled 
a  little  pause  with  a  half-song. 

"Summer  and  singing  are  not  quite  over,"  said  Mr. 
Innesley,  glancing  up  where  the  flutter  of  wings  and  leaves 
revealed  the  little  presence. 

"  No.  And  the  flockings  and  flights  are  to  come.  I 
think  they  are  about  the  prettiest  part  of  the  bird-year," 
said  Peace  Polly. 

"  Only  they  are  the  end,  like  autumn  leaves,"  said  Mr. 
Innesley.  "  Or  that  is  our  fashion  of  speech  about  it.  We 
make  great  mistakes  about  the  ends." 

"  We  make  great  mistakes  about  many  things,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Peace  Polly,  picking  up  and  throwing  down 
two  or  three  knofs  of  yarn  before  she  found  the  right  one. 
"  And  so  —  a  good  deal  of  life  —  has  to  be  —  raveling." 
She  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  pulling  out  a  row  of  knit 
ting,  and  beginning  carefully  to  pick  up  her  stitches  again. 

"  Miss  Peace,"  said  the  young  man,  "  when  I  went 
away,  it  was  an  interruption." 


266  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Going  away  is  always  an  interruption.  That 's  one 
of  our  ends,"  said  Peace  Polly,  with  cheerful  coolness, 
patting  out  the  worsted-work  upon  her  knee,  and  contem 
plating  with  satisfaction  the  change  of  effect  in  it. 

"  Now  I  am  hack  again,"  persisted  Mr.  Innesley,  with 
quite  as  much  self-possession,  "I  have  come  to  ask  you 
what  I  then  had  in  my  mind." 

Peace  Polly  was  sorely  tempted  to  twist  his  words,  and 
to  retort,  "  How  can  I  possibly  tell  you,  Mr.  Innesley  ?  " 
but  she  refrained.  She  had  need  of  better  caution.  Un 
der  her  coolness  and  her  pretended  half  abstraction  with 
her  work,  she  was  as  watchful,  as  still,  as  that  very  bird 
in  the  tree  would  be  at  a  human  movement  toward  it,  a 
hand  reached  out  upon  it. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  perceived — you  have  had  time 
to  think  since  then,"  Mr.  Innesley  was  going  on;  but  this 
was  the  outstretch  of  the  hand  for  which  the  bird  had 
been  on  guard. 

Her  wings  fluttered  in  his  face  ;  she  escaped  him  sud 
denly,  to  perch  further  off.  "  Mr.  Innesley,  I  suppose  it 
may  be  about  the  Confirmation.  You  have  been  with  us 
a  good  deal,  as  you  said  that  day,  and  I  know  it  is  n't 
only  just  these  pleasant  things;  you  think  you  must  re 
mind  me  ;  but  please  don't  ask  me  any  questions  ;  I  'm 
not  ready  yet ;  when  I  've  thought  a  little  more,  I  may 
ask  you,  or  Dr.  Farron." 

Her  conscience  smote  her,  indeed,  for  using  this  as  a 
fend  ;  but  what  could  she  do  ?  He  was  her  clergyman,  — 
only  that ;  she  must  put  it  all  on  that  ground,  and  make 
it  stay  there.  She  must  make  good  her  own  words,  "  He 
has  not  asked  me,  and  he  never  will."  For  Rose  How- 
ick's  sake,  for  his  own  sake,  he  should  not  do  this,  which 
would  be  a  mistake ;  which  he  would  not  like  to  tell  to 
Rose ;  which  he  could  not,  with  self-respect,  remember. 


PEACE  POLLTS  SKIRMISHES.  267 

And  it  was  not  solely  a  fend,  either ;  it  was  an  argu 
ment,  only  she  could  not  let  the' subject  go  far  enough  to 
bring  it  in  as  argument.  She  would  remind  him  before 
hand  that  it  was  the  thing  rightly  to  come  first;  how 
could  she  properly  become  a  minister's  wife  without  it  ? 
He  must  not,  she  said  waywardly  to  herself,  think  to  press 
her  with  all  the  services  at  once  ! 

Mr.  Innesley  was  taken  absolutely  by  surprise.  Was 
it  sincerely  possible  that  she  had  understood  him  so  ? 

But  whether  she  spoke  in  utter  innocence,  or  whatever 
she  meant,  —  escape  for  herself  or  him,  —  he  could  not 
take  it  that  way,  now.  He  could  not  withdraw,  under 
cover  of  such  pretense,  what  he  had  honestly  been  about 
to  say.  She  might  refuse  him  ;  very  well,  she  had  a  right 
to  do  it  now.  He  was  too  much  of  a  man  not  to  keep  on. 

"  It  was  quite  another  matter,  Miss  Peace.  One  that 
concerns  you  and  myself,  —  myself  deeply,  coming  to 
know  you  as  I  have." 

Certainly  Peace  Polly  was  inspired ;  so  swiftly  rushed 
into  her  mind  the  expedients  of  elusion. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Innesley  !  "  A  quick,  natural  blush  came  to 
her  reinforcement,  as  she  plunged  into  the  subject. 
"  Then  you  have  heard  that  story,  too !  It  is  too  bad. 
Don't  mind,  though,  for  me,  please.  If  it  meant  any 
thing,  I  should  have  cared ;  if  they  had  talked  of  any 
thing  I  had  the  least  consciousness  of,  you  know !  If  they 
had  said  anything  about  Lyman  and  me,  for  instance ; 
things  I  often  am  ashamed  and  sorry  for,  —  I  could  n't 
have  borne  that  gossip.  I  dare  say  they  do,  but  I  hope  I 
shall  never  hear  it.  I  should  kill  somebody  !  —  It  is  very 
good  of  you  to  think  of  me.  A  man  can't  care  for  himself 
so  much,  though  it  is  a  shame,  —  because  he  can  make  his 
wishes  known  if  he  has  any,  or  he  can  prove  the  contrary 
by  saying  nothing.  But  it  is  hard  on  us  girls,  sometimes, 


268  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Mr.  Innesley!  And  I  have  been  very  sorry,  for  I  know 
she  has  felt  badly." 

And  there  at  last  Peace  Polly  stopped,  or  mshed  back 
into  herself,  rather,  as  she  had  rushed  forth  so  reckless  of 
all  but  the  desperate  necessity  that  she  had  taken  into 
her  own  hand,  alone.  She  stood,  safe,  within  the  citadel 
of  her  reserve  and  absolute  maidenliness  again,  all  glow 
ing  red  and  palpitating  from  her  sortie  ;  her  eyes  shining 
with  the  excitement  of  the  daring,  but  steady,  very  steady, 
fixed  resolutely  upon  his.  If  she  had  paused  before,  had 
quailed,  had  hesitated,  she  would  have  been  covered  with 
confusion  ;  she  would  have  failed. 

But  she  had  not  failed.  She  had  stopped  him,  now. 
She  had  not  waited  to  choose  words,  or  to  contrive  im 
pressions  ;  she  had  let  them  take  care  of  themselves ;  she 
had  done  well.  Did  he  not  notice  that  little  touch  of  dif 
ference  between  her  own  "  not  minding  "  and  the  "  feeling 
badly  "  of  some  one  else  ? 

She  had  shown  it  all  plainly  enough ;  she  had  declared 
in  words  that  no  "  story  about  him  and  her  could  touch 
anything  in  her  consciousness."  If  he  wanted  a  refusal, 
he  had  got  it  now,  and  might  take  it  and  go  away  with  it 
and  be  content.  And  yet  he  had  not  asked  her  anything. 
I  think  Peace  Polly  had  conducted  her  skirmish  well,  if 
on  somewhat  an  unusual  method.  She  had  conquered, 
yet  no  one  had  been  defeated.  There  was  no  need  now 
of  a  pitched  battle. 

Mr.  Innesley  looked  at  her  with  a  certain  admiration. 
He  found,  thanks  to  her  showing,  that  he  could  admire, 
approve,  like  warmly,  and  go  no  further,  and  be  an  hon- 
ester  man ;  perhaps  some  day  a  happier  one,  for  this  that 
she  had  done. 

"  I  have  been  very  sorry  for  her,  she  has  felt  badly." 
Was  this  dear  little  Rose  ? 


PEACE  POLLY'S   SKIRMISHES.  269 

"  Have  they  been  saying  such  things  about  us  all,  Miss 
Peace  ? "  he  asked.  And  Peace  did  not  consider,  or 
choose  to  see,  that  they  were  shifting  ground,  that  she 
was  taking  the  frank-friendly  part  she  had  attributed  to 
him,  but  went  on  to  give  him  full  enlightenment. 

"  They  have  given  you  —  and  taken  you  away  —  and 
given  you  again,"  she  said.  And  then  the  absurdity  of 
the  whole  thing  struck  upon  her  excitement,  and  she 
laughed. 

"Mr.  Tnnesley  did  not  laugh.  He  put  out  his  hand,  and 
Peace  Polly  gave  him  hers. 

"  I  suppose  I  have  to  thank  you  for  more  than  I  can 
see  now,"  he  said.  "  You  have  understood  me  better  than 
I  have  understood  myself.  Peace  !  you  are  a  very  noble 
woman." 

Peace  thought,  and  with  reason,  that  there  was  some 
thing  noble  also  in  him.  Should  she  ever  find  more,  at 
her  own  service,  than  this  that  she  had  let  go  so  easily  ? 
The  restless  heart-pulse  prompted  the  transient  asking, 
but  the  deep  heart  itself  in  her  sung  in  a  still  gladness. 

Standing  there  hand  in  hand,  Rebeccarabby  burst  out 
on  them  from  the  hall  behind. 

"  She 's  comin',  Peace  Polly !  there  's  the  stage !  "  And 
rumbling  and  tetering  up  the  side  drive  beyond  the  gar 
den  paling  came  the  unwieldy  vehicle,  its  big  wheels  scat 
tering  the  gravel,  and  its  straps  and  canvas  flapping  as  it 
swung. 

Mr.  Innesley  took  his  leave. 

At  the  same  moment  Dr.  Fuller  opened  the  low  gate  at 
the  road  front  and  came  slowly  up  the  grass-walk. 


xxvin. 

GOOD   WISHES. 

"  HE  likes  me  because  I  say  what  I  think,  and  have 
ideas  enough  to  be  '  suggestive.'  But  he  will  love  Rose 
Howick  just  because  she  is  lovely.  I  don't  think  he  is  a 
man  who  can  live  on  liking,  or  high-esteeming  ;  but  I  dare 
say  he  supposed  he  ought  to.  He  is  interested  in  the 
making  of  me,  out  of  a  kind  of  strong,  rough  material, 
very  crossway ;  Rose  is  cut  out  already,  by  the  right 
threads,  and  smoothly  fitted  to  a  gracious,  proper  pattern. 
Not  but  that  she  '11  grow  fitter  and  prettier  the  longer  she 
belongs  to  anybody ;  well-made  things,  of  good  stuff,  al 
ways  do,  even  till  they  grow  old  and  wear  out ;  but  she 
won't  need  to  be  made  over  into  any  better  fashion.  — 
He  '11  wake  up  to  that  now,  —  or  give  up  to  it,  —  and  it 
will  all  come  right.  Heigh-ho  !  "  It  was  a  soft  little 
sigh,  but  it  can't  be  printed  any  softer ;  it  has  to  be  as 
you  breathe  it. 

Dr.  Fuller  had  been  into  his  own  room,  and  had  come 
out  into  the  hall  again.  He  looked  tired  and  grave. 

"I  am  afraid  Dr.  Blithecome  is  worse,"  said  Peace 
Polly,  noticing  this  suddenly. 

"On  the  contrary,  he  is  more  comfortable.  .But  there 
is  nothing  to  count  upon,  any  more  than  before." 

"  You  have  had  a  hard  day,  Dr.  Fuller." 

"  Not  very."  And  there  fell  a  silence.  Peace  Polly 
had  settled  to  her  cushion  again,  and  taken  up  her  knit 
ting.  Presently  she  would  go  out  and  give  courteous 


GOOD    WISHES.  271 

welcome  to  Rebeccarabby's  kinswoman.  The  two  were 
now  up  in  the  ell-bedrooms,  whence  proceeded  sounds  as 
of  dragging  trunks,  or  shifting  furniture,  like  small  shocks 
of  earthquake.  Rebeccarabby's  tread  and  her  volumi- 
noua  voice  resounded  like  elemental  rush  and  explosion. 
"  When  the  tornado  has  passed  by,"  thought  Peace  Polly, 
"  I  can  venture."  That  was  as  usual  with  things  and  oc 
casions  in  which  Rebeccarabby  took  violent  precedence. 

Dr.  Fuller  drew  a  chair  to  the  large  hall  table,  and 
turned  over  the  papers  and  mail  of  the  day. 

Peace  Polly  looked  at  him  furtively.  u  He  is  n't  trou 
bled,  and  he  is  n't  tired  ;  what  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 
she  wondered. 

"  Would  you  like  an  early  cup  of  tea  ?  Did  you  miss 
your  dinner  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  dined  with  Mrs.  Blithecome,  thank  you." 

Peace  Polly  glanced  again,  and  caught  an  expression 
resting  upon  herself  which  she  could  not  quite  understand. 
She  put  down  her  work,  got  up,  and  walked  over  opposite 
to  him. 

"  Have  I  done,  or  not  done,  anything  that  I  should  n't 
or  should  ?  Are  you  vexed  with  me,  Dr.  Fuller  ?  " 

"  Vexed  with  you !  How  should  I  be  ?  "  The  first 
words  were  almost  tender  ;  the  latter  sounded  impatient. 

"  I  don't  know.  You  seem  — you  have  been  —  a  little 
different.  I  am  sorry  I  asked,"  said  Peace  Polly,  her 
words  proudly  apologetic. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Peace  !  you  have  nothing  but  my  high 
est  regard,  my  very  true,  good  wishes." 

What  did  he  mean  with  a  set  speech  like  that  ? 

"  Why,  Dr.  Fuller !  "  she  cried,  in  a  mixture  of  fun  and 
feeling.  "People  say  that  when  anybody  is  going  a  jour 
ney,  or  into  business,  or  to  get  married  ;  when  they  may 
break  their  necks,  or  their  fortunes,  or  their  hearts. 


272  BONNYBOROUGH. 

What  danger  am  I  in  of  either  ?  Why  do  you  wish  me 
such  solemn  good  wishes  ?  " 

She  stood  over  against  him,  her  hands  folded  before 
her  on  the  table,  an  arm's  length  of  distance  between 
them.  His  hand,  against  which  he  had  slightly  leaned  his 
cheek,  while  with  the  other  he  had  turned  the  reading  mat 
ter  before  him,  left  its  place,  was  reached  across,  and 
laid  gently  upon  her  two.  His  head  lifted,  and  his  eyes 
looked  into  hers. 

"  I  do  not  wish  against  danger  ;  I  hope  for  all  best  pos 
sibilities  to  be  fulfilled.  I  was  premature,  perhaps  ;  I 
have  no  right,  —  you  must  pardon  me.  I  will  wait  your 
pleasure  ;  my  good  wishes  are  always  ready." 

The  color  came  up  in  Peace  Polly's  face,  so  hot  that 
tears  rushed  and  filled  her  eyelids  ;  the  fun,  if  it  had  been 
such,  was  gone  ;  her  breath  came  quickly  ;  her  eyes,  even 
under  their  tears,  glittered. 

"  My  pleasure  is  now,"  she  said,  proudly,  passionately. 
"  Dr.  Fuller,  you  are  mistaken.  There  is  nothing  to  wish 
me  well  about.  I  have  no  particular  happiness  what 
ever." 

How  beautiful  the  sorrowful  storm  was  in  her  face! 
She  stood  an  instant,  absolutely  forgetful  of  his  fingers 
still  resting  upon  her  own,  intent  only  upon  his  face,  to 
see  if  he  took  the  truth  from  her.  Then  suddenly,  she 
drew  both  hands  from  his  hold,  dashed  them  across  her 
eyes,  and  smiled  like  a  rainbow. 

"  I  have  no  ww-happiness,  either !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Don't  mistake  the  other  way.  And  forgive  me,  for  I 
thank  you,  all  the  same." 

While  he  still  watched  the  swift-changing,  full-fraught 
features,  the  face  turned  from  him,  and  she  went  away. 

What  was  it  she  had  seen  in  his  ?  At  that  last  assur 
ance,  what  kind  of  gladness  swept  from  brow  to  mouth, 


GOOD    WISHES.  273 

what  smile  broke  forth  ?     She  did  not  wait  to  understand  ; 
she  went  away  wondering,  and  remembering. 

Dr.  Fuller  carried  some  papers  into  his  study.  It 
was  a  good  while  before  he  looked  at  any  of  them. 

By  and  by,  alone  as  he  sat,  a  low  exclamation  escaped 
his  lips.  He  had  a  Boston  newspaper  open  in  his  hands. 
This  was  the  notice  upon  which  his  eyes  had  fallen :  — 

"  In  this  city,  15th  instant,  Cecilia,  widow  of  the  late 
Elijah  Gray  Winterhouse,  74  years." 

He  read  it  slowly,  thrice  over  ;  then  he  put  the  paper 
down. 

"  It  can  make  no  difference,"  he  said.  "  Cecilia  never 
has  heard  a  word  from  her  aunt  since  she  was  married." 

At  that,  the  tea-bell  rang :  tea-bells  have  no  deference  ; 
they  break  in  on  anything. 
18 


XXIX. 

MBS.    PAMELA    CHIRKE. 

AT  this  somewhat  late  point  in  our  story,  we  must  intro 
duce  and  explain  a  new  character,  Mrs.  Pamela  Chirke. 

But  who  shall  say  who  is  a  new  character,  in  any 
story  ?  Mrs.  Pamela  would  have  been  astonished  that  in 
any  chronicle  of  Bonnyborough,  to  say  nothing  of  its  cen 
tring  at  The  Knolls,  she  should  not  have  been  introduced 
and  explained  long  ago. 

Mrs.  Pamela  was  a  little  grasshopper  of  a  woman. 
She  had  never  been  anything,  she  said  herself,  but  wires 
and  jump.  Her  name  was  Spring  before  she  was  mar 
ried  ;  and  she  had  lived  with  the  two  successive  Mistress 
Schotts  from  before  the  birth  of  Lyman,  whom,  as  a  girl 
of  fourteen,  she  had  "tended,"  in  a  bony,  bounding, 
chirrupy  way,  quite  after  her  own  nature  and  sufficiently 
acceptable  to  the  boy,  until  after  that  of  Peace  Polly, 
which  she  only  stayed  to  see  safely  over,  and  the  mother 
provided  with  a  successor  to  herself,  —  now  and  long  since 
become  the  mainstay  of  the  household,  —  to  fulfill  her  own 
promise,  of  five  years'  standing,  to  Jacob  Chirke,  a  com 
fortable  carpenter,  and  go  with  him  to  "  Woodiford,  Sta- 
termaine."  Statermaine  was  where  she  had  originally 
come  from,  and  Woodiford  was  in  her  native  county.  It 
was  "  goin'  back  to  folks ;  only  Bonnyborough  folks  had 
got  to  be  so  like  folks  that  she  could  n't  scurcely  tell 
which  was  whichest." 

Shortly  after,  she    had  sent  her  niece,   Rebeccarabby 


MRS.    PAMELA    CHIRKE.  275 

Pownes,  to  reinforce  the  Schott  menage,  beginning  over 
again  the  story  of  the  aunt's  apprenticeship  as  "  young 
girl,"  and  fulfilling,  as  we  have  seen,  the  same  after  mis 
sion  and  destiny,  "  savin'  an'  excepting''  as  Rabby  was 
wont  to  say,  "  the  circumstahnce  of  Chirke." 

At  Rebeccarabby's  coming,  Peace  Polly's  mother  was 
already  in  that  delicate  health  which  foretokened  the 
quiet  slipping  away  that  happened  at  last,  after  a  few 
years  of  the  semi-detached  struggle  which  so  many  Amer 
ican  woman  know,  and  which  is,  perhaps,  as  fibre  after 
fibre  slowly  yields,  the  most  exquisite  illustration  of  the 
sharpness  of  death. 

When  Peace  Polly  was  a  little  maid  of  seven,  Rebecca- 
rabby  —  strange  to  say,  because  the  thing  never  occurred 
before  nor  since  —  "  failed  some  in  her  health,"  and  had  a 
longing  for  the  "  Statermaine,"  as  the  only  place  and 
means  for  regaining  it. 

Whether  it  were  a  "  circumstahnce,"  though  not  the 
"  circumstahnce  of  Chirke,"  were  hard  to  say,  since  it  never 
transpired  sufficiently  to  come  with  verity  into  this  rec 
ord  ;  but  Aunt  Pamely  left  Woodiford  "  for  a  spell,"  and 
came  and  kept  Joshua  Schott's  house  again ;  this  also  fit 
ting  in,  for  Chirke  had  got  a  long  job  of  building  in  a  some 
what  distant  mill-village,  and  could  only  come  home  "  oc 
casional,  any  way ;  "  and  there  were  no  children  to  leave. 

Mrs.  Pamela  stayed,  "  off  'n  on,  the  biggest  part  of  a 
year  or  two,"  the  current  of  events  favoring.  They  were 
a  thrifty  couple,  the  Chirkes,  and  not  averse  to  "  earnin' 
at  both  ends,"  even  at  the  cost  of  some  lengthy  separa 
tions  ;  and  Aunt  Pamela  averred  that,  "  whether  or  no,  it 
was  her  dooty,  by  Joshuay  Schott  and  Rebeccarabby 
both;  and  she'd  be  willin'  to  give  up  considerable  for 
either." 

It  is  always  well,  and  one  should  be  grateful  for  the 


276  BONNYBOROUGH. 

beneficent  Providence,  when  the  dutiful  sacrifice  and  the 
compensatory  benefit  run  so  evidently  on  what  Serena 
Wyse  might  have  called  parallel  lines. 

Rebeccarabby  recovered ;  certain  individuals  in  the 
neighborhood  of  The  Knolls,  of  whom  Aunt  Pamely  cau 
tiously  wrote  to  her  niece  under  cover  of  general  Bonny- 
borough  news,  went  West ;  and  Rabby  came  back  again, 
blithe  and  resolved ;  thrilling  and  whirling  through  the 
house  in  her  old  way,  a  bit  toned  down  by  time  or  expe 
rience,  —  she  must  be  either  alive  or  dead,  she  said,  —  the 
very  spirit  of  energy  and  cleansing,  like  a  wind  of  March 
or  October,  to  be  taken  with  all  the  concomitants  of  flying 
chaff  and  last  year's  dust,  sudden,  bewildering  bursts  and 
impacts,  slambangs  and  breakages  inevitable,  whenever 
matter,  that  was  not  the  immediate  matter  in  hand,  ob 
structed  or  checked  her  powerful  way. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  funny  thing  to  see  the  two  women 
together,  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  this  summer  visit, 
to  which  both  had  looked  forward,  and  which  had  been 
hope  deferred,  season  after  season ;  for  "  Chirke  was 
gitt'n  in  years,  now,  an'  did  n't  need  ner  perpose  t'  work 
hard  ;  he  only  kep'  his  hand  in  with  neighborly  jobs  ; 
and  he  wanted  his  wife  round,  —  that  was  nat'ral.  They 
could  afford  t'  take  things  easy,  and  t'  take  'em  t'gether." 
Aunt  "  Pamely  could  n't  stay  but  a  week,  now  she  had 
come.  'T  was  kinder  's  if  she  was  sent,  that  it  happened 
so  's  't  she  got  started." 

I  was  only  going  to  say  that  it  was  funny  to  see  them 
"  visitin',"  as  Yankee  women  call  a  comfortable  talk  and 
companionship,  every  time  they  sit  down,  or  pursue  any 
little  avocation,  together.  It  was  not  often  actual  sitting 
still,  with  these.  Rebeccarabby  pealed  and  swirled  tumul- 
tuously  about,  and  Aunt  Pamely  hopped  and  dodged. 
When  Rabby  kept  about  her  "  chores,"  though  she  rarely 


MRS.  PAMELA    CH1RKE.  277 

permitted  help,  Mrs.  Chirke  could  not  make  herself  sta 
tionary.  She  took  her  ball  of  yarn  under  her  elbow,  and 
with  spectacles  on  nose,  and  needles  clicking,  followed 
and  stood  round,  springing  and  jerking  to  make  wonder 
ful  escapes  for  herself  or  get  out  of  Rabby's  way,  as  a 
broom,  or  pail,  or  the  sweep  of  a  mop-stick  threatened 
her  and  called  for  space. 

It  was  the  Wednesday  after  Aunt  Pamely:s  arrival, 
and  it  rained. 

A  slow,  southeasterly  rain  in  August  is  a  forlorn,  ab 
normal  sort  of  thing.  It  shuts  up  the  dog-day  heat,  with 
the  added  damps  that  seem  but  the  sweltering  of  the 
over-aggravated  planet  under  the  torment  of  Sirius,  into 
the  necessarily  half-closed  house  ;  it  thrusts  into  a  sudden 
imprisonment  life  and  plan  that  demand  the  sunshine  ;  it  is 
not  a  good  time  of  year  for  household  enterprises  that  at 
a  different  season  might  revel  in  the  opportunity.  If  the 
rain  has  begun  after  the  wash  was  out,  and  the  dripping 
"  starched  things  "  and  the  delicate  linens  have  had  to  be 
all  brought  in  again,  and  soused  in  tubs  or  hung  on 
horses,  the  condition  is  an  exasperating  one.  And  this 
was  what  had  partly  happened  now.  Eebeccarabby  had 
risen  by  starlight  on  the  Monday,  had  got  out  the  heavy 
clothes  before  breakfast,  and  ironed  them  all  up  out  of 
the  way  in  time  to  straighten  things  with  cheerful  tidiness, 
and  make  her  tea-cake  before  her  aunt's  arrival,  leaving 
the  fine  articles  to  do  on  Tuesday  for  "  company  work  ;  " 
and  on  the  Tuesday  the  showers  had  begun  which  had  be 
come  the  Wednesday's  determined  pour. 

Peace  Polly  had  been  left  alone.  The  house  had  seemed, 
within  the  week  or  more,  to  have  relapsed  into  its  old 
dullness  and  solitariness,  except  as  these  had  been  broken 
by  what  had  so  briefly,  though  emphatically,  touched  upon 
it  from  without.  Its  own  life  had  "  simmered  down,"  as 


278  BONNYBOROUGH. 

even  Rebeccarabby  had  felt  and  expressed  it,  before  the 
announcement  of  Aunt  Pamely's  coming  had  been  like 
chips  to  the  slow  fire  for  her.  Now,  at  least,  there  was 
the  cheer  of  "  mis'ry  likes  company  "  in  the  kitchen  and 
the  kitchen  "  settin'-room."  Up-stairs  there  was  a  blank. 

Peace  Polly  could  not  run  up  to  Serena's  ;  that  is,  she 
hardly  felt  to  care  enough  for  anything  to  run  through 
the  rain,  which  with  a  sufficient  impetus  she  might  have 
done.  And  she  was  conscious  of  a  shrinking  dread  lest 
Pamela  Chirke  should  "  step  in  "  with  her  knitting-work, 
and  offer  a  "  visit "  in  her  own  territories,  with  all  the 
inevitable  old-time  memories  that  were  sure  to  be  un 
wound.  Often,  indeed,  she  might  greatly  have  enjoyed 
them ;  to-day  the  present  time  seemed  quite  enough. 

There  was  a  place  of  refuge,  which,  like  the  panel- 
chambers  in  the  old  romances,  she  kept  a  secret  to  herself 
for  just  such  times,  and  she  fled  to  it  this  morning. 

She  was  not  too  far  off  to  know  if  any  sign  or  move 
ment  in  the  house  should  indicate  an  actual  need  or  in 
terest  for  her;  but  if  Rebeccarabby  or  Mrs.  Pamela 
looked  for  her,  it  would  be  concluded,  in  Rabby's  phrase, 
that  she  had . "  cleared  out  to  S'reeny's ;  "  whereas  she 
was  only  quite  comfortably  ensconced,  with  a  book  and 
her  rug-work,  in  the  low,  narrow  recess  of  a  window  in  a 
large  back  press-closet,  fenced  in  by  movable  shelves  full 
of  bedding,  that  made  an  alcove  of  the  space,  and  before 
whose  inward  open  end  she  had  planted  a  tall  old  blind- 
door,  and  before  that,  again,  a  piece-trunk.  It  was  her 
own  domain,  any  way  ;  there  would  hardly  be  an  errand 
here  for  anybody  else,  and  a  casual  searching  glance 
would  not  discover  her.  The  window  looked  north,  up 
field  ;  there  never  was  any  sun  there,  the  summer 
through,  to  make  it  hot ;  and  through  the  blind-screen 
there  crept  a  draught,  if  wanted,  from  the  high,  upper 
hall. 


MRS.   PAMELA    CH1RKE.  279 

It  happened  that  this  window  was  just  over  the  north 
window  of  the  "  kitchen  settin'-room."  Peace  Polly  had 
not  been  settled  long  before  voices,  of  a  pitch  and  reso 
nance  that  might  easily  have  risen  or  penetrated  further, 
came  up  to  her  ears. 

The  door  from  sitting-room  to  kitchen  was  evidently 
open  :  Rebeccarabby  was  rampaging  around ;  a  frequent 
period,  or  italic,  or  exclamation  point  was  made  by  shove, 
or  clap-to,  or  energetic  setting  down ;  Aunt  Pamely's 
shrill  tones  betokened  frequent  flights  and  sudden  shift- 
ings.  Peace  Polly  listened,  amused.  There  was  certainly 
nothing  secret,  to  be  scrupulous  about. 

"  Is  n't  it  holdin'  up  a  leetle  mite  ?  "  she  heard  Mrs. 
Pamela  hopefully  suggest  from  directly  underneath,  tak 
ing  observation  evidently  from  the  north  window,  away 
from  which  the  fine  rain  slightly  slanted. 

"  Donno  whuther  it 's  holdin'  up  or  holdin'  daown," 
shouted  Rebeccarabby  from  a  different  outlook  ;  "it  jest 
rains  in  a  straight,  uppendickler  colume,  this  way  !  " 

Mrs.  Chirke's  next  remark  came  from  some  little  fur 
ther  distance.  The  clatter  and  gyration  of  a  clothes- 
horse  on  its  stilted  legs  followed.  Rebeccarabby  had  ap 
parently  made  onset  with  her  folding-bars  full  of  damp, 
slapping  draperies,  and  Aunt  Pamely  had  hopped.  Doing 
that,  she  had  come  back  toward  the  window  again,  and 
Rebeccarabby  seemed  to  have  taken  breath  and  followed. 
There  was  a  sound  as  of  a  heavy  subsiding  and  the  creak 
of  rockers,  proclaiming  that  the  latter  was  about  to  in 
dulge  in  a  "  between-spell."  Mre.  Chirke  had  alighted 
noiselessly,  but  they  were  evidently  settled  for  a  few  min 
utes  of  "  clear  comfort,"  for  Rebeccarabby  said,  with 
mighty  emphasis  of  content  and  a  forcible  outbreathed 
sigh,  "  I  declare  to  't,  Aunt  Pum,  it 's  real  clever  to  be 
visitin'  like  this,  along  o'  you.  I  Ve  ben  livin',  most  o' 


280  BONNYBOROUGH: 

the  time,  like  a  settin'  hen  in  a  barril.  Thiz  no  more 
cump'ny  to  this  house,  ornery  times,  thin  thiz  to  a 
stopped-up  marten-box.  'F  I  did  n't  stram  round  con- 
sidderble,  I  should  n't  scursely  know  I  was  here  myself. 
Ben  more  lively,  in  a  solemn  kind  o'  way,  for  Peace 
Polly,  I  s'pose,  latterly ;  but  't  ain't  reached  round  t'  me 
much." 

"  Well,  I  donno,"  said  Aunt  Pamela.  "  It 's  kind  of  a 
still  fam'ly,  to  be  sure  ;  but  yit  'n  so,  it 's  a  fam'ly.  An' 
a  fam'ly  's  cump'ny." 

"  That  depends.  When  us  three  's  alone,  't  ain't  nothin' 
o'  the  sort.  We  're  jest  three  individgiwil  folks,  as  fur 
apart  an'  sep'rit  an'  as  set  to  as  many  pints  o'  the  com 
pass,  as  three  sharp  corners  to  a  ten-acre  heater-piece. 
Ev'ry  one  of  us  is  dretful  diff'runt.  I  can't  say  t'  my  soul 
which  is  the  diff'runtest.  Sometimes  I  think  Lyman  is, 
an'  then  agin  seems  's  if  't  wuz  Peace  Polly.  An'  fin'ly 
I  ain't  sure  but  what  I  be.  Prob'ly  we  all  are,  only  not 
all  in  the  same  pertickler  -  way.  It 's  ben  a  trial,  times 
past,  I  tell  ye." 

"  You  Ve  stuffed  it  out  pooty  well." 

"  I  ain't  never  beat,"  said  Rebeccarabby.  "  I  'd  be 
mortified  t'  be.  Ther  wuz  a  spell  when  it  come  kinder 
hard.  But  's  soon  's  I  ree'lized  it,  I  took  myself  over  my 
knee,  an'  giv'  myself  a  tutorin'.  I  says,  « Rebeccarabby 
Pownes,  it 's  mind  you  want.  Them  thet  hez  mind  ain't 
lonesome,  not  ef  they  wuz  on  topper-Rarrarat.  Cump'ny 
ain't  nuthin',  only  jest  t'  give  yer  mind  somethin'  t'  work 
on.  You  jest  find  yersetf !  You  ken  hev  mind  ef  you  're 
a  min'  ter ! '  So  I  set  myself  t'  see  things,  an'  put  my 
self  to  'em.  I  give  myself  up  t'  gravies,  one  time,  an'  I 
guess  you  could  n't  stump  me  on  a  gravy  now,  ef  ther 
warn't  more  'n  a  wishbone  of  a  pidgin  t'  start  off  on ;  only 
gi'  me  the  salt-suller  an'  the  drudgin'  box  an'  a  scrap  o' 


MRS.  PAMELA    CHIRKE.  281 

pork  an'  a  fryin'-pan.  Then  agin  't  wuz  pie-paste,  and  by 
the  time  I  'd  got  the  full  upper  hand  o'  that,  Lor,  't  warn't 
flakes,  I  will  say,  but  clear  feathers !  F'r  a  long  spell 
'twuz  patchwork;  I've  got  six  quilts  an'  a  silk  spread. 
An'  'long  back  it's  ben  hookin'.  That's  the  most  up- 
takin'  thing  of*all.  I  declare  t' man,  I  can't  fairly  look 
at  a  new  gownd  in  church  'thout  thinkin'  what  strips 
't  would  make,  an'  wishin'  I  could  be  a-hookin'  of  it  right 
straight  off.  I  've  tore  up  a  real  decent  old  Bay-State 
shawl  fer  groundin',  an'  a  red  flannil  petticoat  that  only 
wanted  bindin'  round  the  bottom  an'  turnin'  hind  side 
afront,  afore  it  got  any  thinner  on  the  knees.  Fact,  when 
you  git  a-runnin'  on  one  thing,  the  whole  'arth  an'  firmi- 
mint  seems  t'  be  jest  made  raound  it  en  fer  it !  Say, 
Aunt  Pum  !  What 's  come  o'  that  old  undershot  blue-an'- 
gol'-colored  Chuzan  you  use  t'  hev  ?  The'  wuz  six  brea't's 
in  the  day  of  it,  an'  ther'  warn't  no  wear-out  t'  the  stuff, 
I  know.  Why  can't  ye  look  it  up,  ef  yu  'v  got  it,  an' 
send  it  along  ?  Mail  it ;  I  '11  pay  the  postidge." 

"I  '11  see  'bout  it,  some  time,  p'raps,"  said  Aunt  Pamela. 
"  But  tell  'bout  Lyman,  Rabby.  He  did  n't  use  t'  be  so 
dretful  shet  up  when  I  wuz  here ;  an'  he  was  a  little  feller 
fust,  an'  then  a  young  feller.  I  know  him,  both  ways.  I 
knew  all  his  growin'  up,  an'  some  things  most  folks  did  n't 
know.  Ef  he  's  sp'ilt,  I  know  jest  who  did  it,  an'  jest 
when." 

There  was  a  pause.  Aunt  Pamela  changed  her  knit 
ting-needle,  and  drew  out  her  yarn,  with  elbows  at  sharp, 
high,  lively  angles,  and  set  her  feet  on  the  rung  of  her 
chair,  bringing  up  her  knees  to  correspond.  It  was  her 
attitude  of  attention  and  expectation.  Where  another 
woman  would  have  settled  herself  in  passive  comfort,  she 
was  spry. 

Peace  Polly  could  not  see  this;  she  was  leaning  intent, 


282  BONNYBOROUGH. 

however,  toward  the  low  window,  as  if  she  would  fain 
both  see  and  hear.  Peace  Polly  was  straightforward, 
with  the  rectitude  of  the  very  earth's  axis,  that  points 
from  nether  to  upper  star ;  but  she  was  not  literal,  nor 
squeamish  with  an  arbitrary  righteousness,.  If  the  com 
pass-needle  be  true  to  Polaris,  north,  it  must  be  true  south 
ward,  also,  though  there  be  no  visible  named  Polaris 
there. 

Peace  Polly  felt  she  had  a  right  to  this ;  it  might  be 
the  key  to  their  whole  lives.  If  this  woman  knew,  and 
could  tell  it  to  this  other,  who  were  they,  even  with  their 
long,  old  service,  that  they  should  dare  to  know  her 
brother  better  than  she  ? 

So  she  had  not  a  thought  of  leaving  it  unlistened  ;  she 
leaned,  and  waited,  and  held  her  breath. 

"  Le'  me  go  an'  fetch  along  some  stuff  t'  strip,"  said 
Rebeccarabby.  "I  can't  never  waggle  my  tongue  an' 
keep  my  fingers  still."  In  the  noise  of  her  departure  and 
return,  Peace  Polly  slid  from  her  low  seat,  crept  closer  to 
the  window,  and  knelt  there  by  the  sill. 

"Too,"  said  Rebeccarabby,  talking  with  her  scissors  in 
her  mouth  and  her  teeth  shut,  while  she  shook  out  and 
examined  an  old  woolen  table-cover,  to  see  which  way  the 
threads  and  thins  ran,  "  't  ought  t'  be  you,  I  sh'd  think, 
t'  tell.  You  seem  t'  ev  got  all  the  nub  on  't." 

"  Tell  me  how  things  work  now,  an'  I  '11  tell  ye  what 
the  nub  wuz." 

"  Well,  then,  ef  yer  'd  arst  me  that  any  time  two  munts 
ago  er  more,  I  sh'd  ev  said  they  didn't  work  at  all; 
no  more  'n  'east  athout  barm.  'T  warn't  that,  igzackly, 
nuther,  cos  now  an'  agin  the'  would  be  a  fermint.  'T  wuz 
more  like  things  thet  would  n't  fay  in,  ner  jine ;  y' 
could  n't  make  a  pattun  out  on  't,  ner  a  hull  piec'n,  nuther. 
Ev'rything  wuz  jib-jab,  an'  catty-cornered.  Them  two 


MRS.   PAMELA    CHIRKE.  283 

jest  settin'  ther  eyes  by  one  another,  but  both  on  'em  with 
sech  a  side-squint  o'  ther  own  thet  they  could  n't  never 
see  it.  Lyman  hectors,  an'  Peace  Polly  snaps ;  an'  then 
one  goes  off  an'  aches  over  it,  an'  t'other  hides  up  an' 
cries.  Seems  as  ef  't  wuz  jest  because  they  had  n't  only 
one  another,  an'  they  wuz  both  missin'  sunthin'  else." 

"  Lyman  missed  it,  like  enough,  an'  Peace  Polly  hed  n't 
come  to  it.  Well,  go  long." 

"Why  don't  ye  say  '  gee '  ?  "  asked  Rebeccarabby,  a  little 
resentfully.  "  I  can't  gee  over  a  stun  wall ;  an'  thet 's 
about  the  upcome  'f  all  I  ken  tell  ye.  Guess  yer  know 
the  rest,  es  the  little  boy  said  t'  the  school-marm." 

"  You  wuz  alwers  in  a  proper  pickle  fer  a  story,  Rebec 
carabby  Pownes  !  Could  n't  never  let  one  keep." 

"  Whut  did  Lyman  miss  ?  "  demanded  Rebeccarabby, 
uncompromisingly,  as  one  standing  upon  her  rights. 

"  Whur  's  the  peck  o'  pickled  peppers  Peter  Piper 
picked  ?  If  a  peck  "  —  began  Aunt  Pamela,  mockingly. 
"  Well,  then,  I  '11  teU  ye.  'T  ain't  nothin'  t'  make  fun  of ; 
'twuz  pooty  sober  'arnest  in  the  time.  I  wuz  here,  'n  I 
know.  He  wanted  S'reeny  Wyse.  Did  n't  so  much  want 
her,  as  thought  he  'd  got  her  ;  they  growed  up  together, 
an'  they  growed  together.  'T  warn't  no  queschin  o'  comin' 
ter  pass ;  when  it  stopped,  't  wuz  like  a  horse  stoppin'  at 
full  go,  —  everybody  wuz  pitched  out." 

"  Whut  stopped  it  ?  "  exploded  Rebeccarabby. 

"  Wy,  she!  No,  her  mother.  Nerves.  Nerves  is  at  the 
bottom  of  ev'rything  that  gits  upsot.  The  old  lady  wuz 
childish,  breakin'  up  ;  kinder  crazy.  S'reeny  would  n't 
leave  her ;  I  don't  blame  her  fer  that,  but  she  never  giv' 
Lyman  a  word  t'  wait  on.  Whut  fools  women  ken  be  ! 
They  think  a  man  can't  wait.  I  know  better,  ef  he  only 
is  a  man  !  Jacob  waited." 

She  did  not  say  whether  she  meant  the  son  of  Isaac  or 
her  carpenter.  It  was  true  of  both. 


284  BONNYBOROUGH. 

She  began  again. 

"  I  wuz  here,  an'  I  know,"  she  repeated.  "  I  wuz  out 
t'  the  mow,  after  hen's  eggs,  thet  blessed  afternoon,  —  day 
afore  the  Fourth,  —  'leven  year  ago  this  very  las'  come  an' 
gone  July,  an'  I  found  him  there,  flat-face  on  the  hay, 
a-cryin',  —  the  way  a  man  cries,  dry  an'  hard  ;  ef  y'  don't 
know  how  thet  is,  Lord  keep  ye  f'om  ever  findin'  out. 
It 's  turrible  !  He  warn't  much  more  'n  a  boy,  —  whut  's 
five  'r  six  'n  twenty  ?  But  there  he  wuz,  a  struck-down 
man.  'T  warn't  no  losin'  of  a  jack-knife,  ner  gitt'n 
cheated  out  o'  marbles,  ner  his  pa  a-thrashin'  of  him ; 
ther'  warn't  but  jest  one  thing  thet  could  'a  done  it,  ner 
but  jest  one  woman.  I  know  that." 

"  Warn't  it  sperritooal  wrass'lin',  may  be  ?  "  suggested 
Rebeccarabby. 

"  To  the  land,  child,  no  !  Wy,  he  'd  hed  his  expee- 
r'unce,  an'  come  out  all  clear  an'  hopeful,  years  afore. 
It  wuz  the  one  thing  else  thet  happens  to  a  man,  an'  it 
happened  to  him  hard  !  Pore  soul !  He  hed  n't  had  no 
other  womankind.  His  mother  she  died  when  he  wuz 
twelve,  an'  Peace  Polly  she  warn't  ten,  then ;  an'  ye 
know  's  well 's  I  do  it  laid  on  him  t'  be  womankind  'n  all, 
himself,  t'  Peace  Polly,  —  not  jest  knowin'  how,  nuther." 

Peace  Polly  had  got  enough.  Her  heart  was  throb 
bing  up  in  her  throat.  Her  teeth  were  set.  Her  con 
science  —  is  conscience  all  over  and  through  one,  like  a 
flame  ?  —  was  wrapping  her  in  a  sudden,  live  torment. 

"  My  one,  one  brother !  "  she  gasped.  "  All  these  years !  " 

If  she  had  learned  this  a  little  while  ago,  would  she 
have  known  it  so  ?  Life  had  grown  in  her,  strangely. 

She  sank ;  she  crouched  down ;  she  crept  backward. 
She  flung  her  head,  she  buried  her  face  against  a  thick, 
soft  pile  of  blankets  and  coverlets  that  were  filled  in  upon 
the  lowermost  of  the  tall  shelves  that  shielded  her. 


MRS.   PAMELA    CH1RKE.  285 

Nobody  could  hear  her  there.  She  shrieked  little 
smothered  shrieks  of  pain  into  the  deadening  folds.  "  My 
brother !  My  one  brother  !  "  she  still  cried,  with  a  strong, 
inward  cry,  though  the  words  were  whispered. 

She  remembered  every  hard,  cross,  contemptuous  word 
she  had  ever  said  to  him.  She  forgot  every  tease,  every 
pettiness,  she  had  ever  endured  from  him.  Oh,  she  pit 
ied  him  so,  that  he  had  borne  that,  all  these  years,  —  and 
she  had  never  known.  Then  the  tears  came  like  rain. 

And  at  last  a  soft,  tired  breath.  "  But  I  do  love  him," 
—  the  thought  swept  through  her  like  a  calm,  —  "  or  I 
could  not  care  about  it  so  !  " 

"  '  From  all  our  sins,  negligences,  and  ignorances,  good 
Lord,  deliver  us  ! '  ' 

Out  of  her  Prayer-Book,  in  this  hour,  she  experienced 
this. 

And  by  and  by,  as  she  sat  there,  there  came  to  her 
these  other  words  :  "  Thou,  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open, 
all  desires  known,  and  from  whom  no  secrets  are  hid, 
cleanse  the  thoughts  of  our  hearts  "  —  "  Oh,  take  away  all 
these  old  and  bitter  ones,  and  all  the  mischief  of  them !  " 
was  her  unspoken  interruption. 

Other  sentences  linked  themselves,  brokenly  ;  the  book 
was  full  of  them.  She  blessed  it,  —  as  her  thoughts  lit 
up  with  them  like  tempest-clouds  shot  through  with  sun- 
gleams,  —  that  it  had  kept  them  for  her  at  this  need  ; 
that  so  she  knew  that  other  souls  had  needed  them. 

"  Grant  unto  thy  people  pardon  and  peace  ;  that  they 
may  serve  thee  with  a  quiet  mind." 

A  quiet  mind ;  oh,  how  she  had  needed,  and  failed  of, 
that ! 

"  Absolve  thy  people  from  their  offenses,  that  through 
thy  bountiful  goodness  we  may  all  be  delivered  from  the 
bands  of  those  sins  which  by  our  frailty  we  have  com 
mitted." 


286  BONNYBOROUGH. 

She  went  away  and  looked  for  those  two  little  prayers ; 
beneath  each,  in  the  day's  Gospel,  she  found  a  resurrec 
tion. 

"Thysonliveth!  " 

"  He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  the  maid  arose." 

"  It  is  so  He  forgives,  and  makes  good  again  !  Oh,  '  in 
all  our  troubles  let  us  put  our  whole  trust  and  confidence 
in  thy  mercy  ! '  "  she  said,  in  her  rejoicing,  softened  heart. 

She  bathed  her  face  and  smoothed  her  hair ;  she  took 
some  little  work  she  had  to  do  for  Lyman,  —  some  new 
handkerchiefs  to  hem,  —  and  went  and  sat  with  it  by  the 
up-stairs  hall-window,  waiting  his  return. 

She  had  left  her  rug-work  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  in  the 
press-closet.  It  was  many  days  before  she  had  the  heart 
to  go  back  there  and  gather  it  up. 

When  Lyman  came,  he  was  walking  slowly.  She  saw 
him  coming  along  under  the  ash  and  maple  trees. 

His  step  sounded  weary  and  heavy  on  the  porch.  She 
heard  him  come  in,  make  a  few  steps  into  the  hallway, 
and  then  the  movement  ceased. 

She  rose,  —  paused  and  listened,  —  went  gently  to 
ward  the  landing,  and  leaned  upon  the  baluster.  No  fur 
ther  word  or  motion  down  below.  She  could  not  see  him 
as  she  stood ;  but  he  was  surely  there.  Why  had  he  come 
in  like  that  ?  she  wondered. 

Peace  Polly  slipped  noiselessly  down  the  stairway. 

Lyman's  hat  was  thrown  upon  the  table  ;  he  sat  beside 
it  in  one  of  the  old  harp-backed  carved  chairs.  His  head 
was  in  his  hand ;  he  was  tired  ;  his  troubles  lifted  them 
selves  up  against  him ;  they  do  when  a  man  is  tired.  All 
this  Peace  Polly  thought  with  a  great  surge  of  tenderness, 
as  she  came  softly  down. 

It  had  not  been  like  other  things  that  disappoint  a  man, 
and  leave  him  to  endure  awhile  and  then  get  over  it. 


MRS.   PAMELA    CHIRKE.  287 

This  thing  had  stayed  right  by.  Its  denial  had  been 
right  before  his  face  ;  it  had  not  changed,  or  gone  to  some 
one  else  instead  of  him ;  when  other  troubles  came,  and 
other  thwartings,  there  it  was,  always  mocking  with  its 
nearness,  its  impossibility.  It  said  relentlessly,  "  Neither 
may  you  have  this,  that  would  have  comforted  you  for 
all." 

And  even  his  sister  had  not  known  or  cared.  How 
could  she  have  known  ?  But,  oh,  she  might  have  cared  ! 
She  need  not  have  left  him  alone  with  his  hard,  half  life, 
—  her  "  dull,  slow  Lyman  !  " 

Her  whole  heart  reached  out  to  her  brother,  —  folded 
him  warm  in  full,  pitying,  repentant  love. 

In  a  moment  she  was  beside  him ;  her  two  arms  about 
his  neck  ;  her  head  bent  down  to  him,  her  cheek  coming 
softly  against  his. 

"  Oh,  Lyman,  I  am  so  sorry  —  for  everything !  That  I 
have  n't  been  a  better  sister  to  you  all  the  time,  —  not  half 
knowing  you,  dear !  I  'd  be  the  whole  world  to  you  now 
if  I  only  could !  " 

It  was  so  true,  she  hesitated  not  a  thought  about  saying 
it.  Truth  makes  its  own  way  to  truth.  She  knew  Ly- 
man's  heart  now,  and  she  was  not  afraid. 

Lyman  turned,  and  held  her  suddenly  in  his  arms  ;  his 
strong,  good  arms  that  had  never  held  her  so  before. 

"  Why,  Peace  Polly  !  Little  sister  !  How  could  you 
know,  possibly  ?  " 

Polly  only  cried  a  little,  tenderly. 

"Don't  worry,  Polly,"  Lyman  said,  still  keeping  her 
close,  "  nothing  really  bad  can  ever  happen,  you  know. 
I  've  meant  right,  —  and  I  mean  right  now.  I  '11  do  the 
best  I  can,  and  the  Lord  will  take  care  of  everybody." 

Peace  Polly  pushed  herself  back  a  little,  lovingly,  so 
that  she  could  see  his  face. 


288  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Why,  Lyman,"  she  cried,  between  sobs  and  exulta 
tion,  "  what  a  beauty  of  a  man  you  are  !  "  And  then 
she  laughed,  and  then  she  sobbed  outright,  upon  his 
shoulder. 

She  had  found  her  brother ;  she  knew  that  she  whole- 
loved  him  now ;  he  was  a  glory  of  a  man.  And  Lyman 
thought  the  premium  of  years  was  well  paid  in,  —  yes, 
and  the  calamity  well  befallen  at  last,  —  that  brought  him 
such  equivalent  as  this. 

What  matter  was  it  that  for  the  moment  they  were 
talking  of  two  different  things  ?  Their  discovery  of  each 
other  was  the  same ;  explanations  of  mere  present  circum 
stance  would  come  later. 

Lyman  had  had  bad  final  news  that  day ;  the  builder 
at  East  Bend  had  failed. 

Dinner  was  upon  the  table ;  why  not  ?  Lyman  had 
come  home  to  dinner.  It  is  a  blessed  thing,  after  all,  that 
these  needs  and  customs  hold  us  so  to  our  tracks  and 
hours.  We  should  rush  off  frantic,  all  detached  from 
safe  and  common  things,  at  times,  if  it  were  not  so. 

The  two  sat  down  together.  The  meal  was  nearly 
ended  when  Dr.  Fuller  came  in  ;  he  brought  also,  —  not 
bad  news,  I  will  not  write  it  so,  —  but  a  tender  sadness. 

Dr.  Blithecome  had  died. 

As  they  finally  left  the  table,  Lyman  said  quietly  to 
his  friend,  "  I  have  had  a  blow  to-day,  C.  P.  Hatherton 
has  stopped.  It  stops  me,  —  partially,  and  for  a  time  at 
least." 

"  Old  fellow  ?  "  Dr.  Fuller  exclaimed,  turning  quickly. 
He  gave  one  look  at  Lyman's  face.  "  Brave  fellow !  "  he 
said,  and  put  forth  his  hand  with  eager  warmth. 

Peace  Polly  started,  but  her  first  movement  passed 
unnoticed  ;  she  put  down  her  surprise.  She  saw  in  an 


MRS.  PAMELA    CH1RKE.  289 

instant  how  it  had  been ;  she  said  to  herself,  "  Let  it 
remain  ;  what  matter  ?  We  have  each  other  now,  —  for 
everything !  " 

She  slipped  round  beside  Lyman,  and  stood  there,  her 
head  inclining  gently,  tenderly,  towards  him,  as  he  stood 
straight  and  firm.  Her  hand  stole  into  his.  Her  eyes, 
shining,  splendid,  thanked  his  friend ;  her  friend,  who 
had  all  along  shown  her  her  brother. 

Dr.  Fuller  looked  at  them.  She  had  known  it  before, 
he  supposed,  of  course.  He  saw  her  face,  so  full,  so  lov 
ing,  so  radiant,  so  strong.  Not  a  trace  of  dismay,  even 
for  Lyman  ;  only  a  holy  pride,  a  steadfast  devotion ;  for 
herself,  no  thought.  It  was  a  perfect  woman's  face  for  a 
man's  trouble. 

He  left  them  so.    "  They  do  not  need  me,  or  any  one," 
he  said,  and  in  his  own  great  heart  —  great  enough  to 
bear  and  to  see  through  trouble,  that  it  was  nothing  — 
he  was  very  glad  for  them. 
19 


XXX. 

QUITTANCE. 

RAWSON  MORGAN  chuckled  when  the  news  came  in. 
"  That  '11  slice  him  down  pretty  well.  A  whole  summer's 
work  on  his  hands,  —  fancy,  too,  that  nobody  '11  take  off. 
May  be  he  won't  turn  up  his  nose  at  my  ten  thousand  now. 
I  can  make  it  fifteen ;  I  know  where.  I  've  alwers  held  to 
that  sharp  old  story  in  the  Noo  Testameant,  and  ben 
beholden  to  St.  Luke  for  sett'n  of  it  down.  Rest  on  'em 
skipped  it." 

And  the  unjust  steward  slapped  his  mean  sides  with  a 
grin. 

He  had  a  certain  decorum  for  the  counting-room,  how 
ever.  He  could  almost  put  on  the  gentleman  at  times, 
when  it  was  serving  his  purpose ;  if  that  purpose  fell 
through,  or  his  passions  roused,  he  was  intensely,  coarsely, 
furiously,  vernacular.  Lyman  Schott,  though  he  had  come 
to  dislike  and  distrust  the  man,  had  never  yet  seen  him 
with  his  visor  quite  thrown  up. 

"  You  have  heard  about  the  Hathertons  ?  "  he  said,  in 
terrogatively,  when  the  fellow  came  up-stairs  at  noontime 
the  next  day. 

"Yaas;  bad  business,"  drawled  Morgan.  He  meant 
his  drawl  for  regretful  reluctance  ;  but  if  Lyman  had  scru 
tinized,  he  might  have  detected  the  chuckle  still  lurking 
in  his  eye.  Morgan  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  tried  to 
keep  his  regards  on  that. 

The  rumor  had  been  in  town  the  day  before,  —  rumor 


QUITTANCE.  291 

only.  Lyman  had  had  his  own  immediate  and  certain  in 
formation,  but  he  had  borne  himself  as  usual  at  the  mill, 
and  the  mill  people  and  manager  were  puzzled.  That 
Lyman  left  it  to  come  to  Morgan  by  hearsay  marked  the 
footing  he  chose  to  maintain  with  the  man  others  looked 
upon  as  in  his  closest  interest  and  confidence.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  speak  to  the  foreman  of  it  now ;  and  Morgan 
knew  what  he  was  wanted  in  the  office  for. 

Even  now,  Lyman  so  disliked  to  open  the  matter  that 
he  was  silent  for  a  moment  after  that  first  inquiry  and  an 
swer. 

Morgan  could  not  wait. 

11  S'pose  you  '11  shet  down  on  them  mouldin's  an'  mul- 
lions,  for  a  while  ?  "  he  said,  interrogatively,  in  his  turn. 

"  Yes ;  I  sent  for  you  to  say  that." 

"  How  do  y'  expect  to  git  red  on  'em,  these  dull  times  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect ;  further  than  to  do  the  right  tiling, 
and  take  what  comes." 

"  Hope  't  won't  be  no  serious  set-back  to  you,  sir." 

No  answer. 

"  Mr.  Schott,  look  here  !  I  've  ben  with  you  for  fifteen 
year  an'  more.  I  told  ye  awhile  back  I  'd  something 
laid  by;  now,  if  you  should  find  yourself  in  anything  of 
a  little  tight  place,  temperairy,  • —  I  know  it  could  n't  only 
be  temperairy,  —  just  remember,  will  ye,  it's  kindly  at 
your  service." 

It  was  a  pretty  good  little  speech,  if  an  honest  man  had 
made  it. 

Morgan  twisted  his  hat-rim  modestly,  as  he  spoke, 
shyly  offering  his  small  help ;  but  he  leered  out  of  his 
eye-corners  all  the  same. 

Lyman  did  not  look  round.  He  felt  the  unpleasant  en 
croachment  of  Morgan's  nearer  pressure  to  his  side,  but 
he  kept  busy  with  his  papers. 


292  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Thank  you,  Rawson,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  should 
not  take  that  except  on  the  terms  that  were  impossible  be 
fore,  and  are  impossible  now." 

The  leer  darkened  into  wrath  and  threatening,  but  was 
still  held  in  leash  in  the  corner  of  the  ugly  eye. 

"  Yer  mean  ter  say  that  yer  wouldn't  have  me  in  —  on 
a  small  share  —  nohow  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  That 's  about  it,  Morgan ;  though  I  did  n't  put  it  so." 

"  You  hain't  got  no  sale  for  them  flumdiddlums,"  — 
Morgan  was  rapidly  growing  dialectic,  —  "  nor  yit  fer  all 
the  extry  stock,  —  'less  't  was  to  the  insurance  companies," 
he  added,  in  low,  slight  italics. 

Lyman  hardly  noticed.  He  was  really  very  busy. 
"  Looks  about  so,"  he  repeated.  He  did  not  want  either 
advice  or  commiseration  from  this  man. 

Morgan  still  lingered.  He  drew  yet  a  little  nearer. 
He  had  two  cards  in  his  hand  to  play ;  one  he  must  in 
dicate  with  the  greatest  caution.  He  scarcely  expected 
to  take  the  trick  with  that ;  still  there  was  a  possibility, 
—  everything  was  possible  to  the  father  of  temptations 
and  lies  ;  every  man  had  his  price,  he  believed,  though  it 
might  not  always  be  in  money.  This  was  a  money  ques 
tion,  first ;  but  it  touched  that  which  came  closer,  —  Ly 
man  Schott's  lifelong  pride  in  his  inherited  and  well-aug 
mented  business.  Morgan  had  been  watching  for  such  a 
chance  for  years  ;  he  would  not  let  it  go  by  now  for  want 
of  trying. 

The  other  card,  —  well,  it  would  change  the  character 
of  the  game  ;  it  would  be  thoroughly  against  Lyman  that 
he  should  play  that ;  a  card  of  revenge,  also  a  play  of  self- 
defense  in  a  last  emergency ;  for  the  present  crisis  of 
affairs  would  prompt  a  pretty  general  review  and  estimate 
of  things,  and  Rawson  Morgan  could  not  afford  an  over 
hauling  when  he  might  not  be  there  to  shift  and  count. 


QUITTANCE.  293 

a  I  did  n't  ask  nothin'  o'  you,  Lyman,  except  leave  to 
help  a  little.  Every  little  dooes  help  ;  I  've  got  ten  thou 
sand,  and  I  could  have  the  command  of  five  more.  'T  was 
at  yer  service,  as  I  said.  I  'd  run  most  any  resk  fer  you, 
Lyman."  The  men  had  been  youths  together,  working  on 
the  wharves  and  in  the  mill  with  Joshua  Schott ;  and  they 
called  each  other  now  and  then,  when  the  one  wished  to 
be  a  little  kind,  and  the  other  insinuating,  by  their  Chris 
tian  names.  "  I  never  supposed  ten  thousand,  nor  even 
fifteen,  would  fill  the  bill ;  you  should  have  more  if  I  'd 
got  it.  But  if  you  won't  have  it  of  me,  there 's  no  more 
to  say." 

"  No,"  said  Lyman,  "  there  's  no  more  to  say,  beyond 
my  thanks.  I  would  n't  take  your  money  without  doing 
what  you  've  always  wanted  for  it.  I  hope  I  don't  need 
it ;  I  certainly  don't  want  any  partnership." 

Then  Morgan  showed  stealthily  a  corner  of  the  card 
he  could  play,  but  so  as  it  could  be  withdrawn  with  due 
safety.  To  know  at  the  instant  which  he  must  decide, 
he  keenly  watched  the  sidewise  face  his  employer  showed 
him ;  he  was  ready  for  the  first  twitch  of  a  muscle,  either 
way. 

He  assumed  a  quite  fresh  tone.  "  All  right,  then  ;  that 
matter's  done  with.  If  you  change  your  mind,  the 
money's  there,  that's  all.  But,  speakin'  of  insurance,  I 
jest  meant  to  ask  if  you  had  looked  up  them  old  policies 
lately,  an'  how  much  tJiey  was  fer  ?  " 

His  enunciation  grew  slow  and  careful ;  his  italics  were 
very  soft  and  slight ;  his  eye  fastened  itself  like  a  leech 
upon  Lyman's  cheek,  temple,  brow  ;  he  would  rather  have 
that  half-face,  his  own  being  shielded,  than  encounter 
openly  the  whole. 

"  There  's  the  overside  wharf,  —  the'  ain't  so  much 
stock  there  now  as  the'  was ;  but  I  alwers  said,  you  know, 


294  BONNYBOROUGH. 

it  was  the  reskiest  place  :  right  in  the  cove,  with  them  dry 
pastures  overhead  each  side  ;  there  's  so  many  grass-fires 
these  droughty  times." 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  the  insurance ;  that  is  n't  in  your 
charge,"  said  Lyman,  shortly.  He  still  but  half  attended 
to  his  manager's  persistent  broaching  of  impertinent 
topics ;  he  had  some  difficult  papers  to  look  through ;  he 
had  purposely  sent  for  Morgan  at  a  time  when  he  might 
see  that  he  was  occupied,  and  must  be  brief.  His  brows 
knit ;  Morgan  saw  that. 

"  Well,  never  mind.  Thought  I  'd  mention  it.  The 
cove  wharf  is  my  look-out  you  know,  chiefly,  as  to  han 
dling.  I  say,  Lyman, "  —  the  card  was  out  between  his 
fingers  now  ;  a  black  ace ;  it  almost  dropped  ;  —  "  ye  Ve 
paid  a  lot  o'  money  to  them  companies,  fust  an'  last ;  ef 
it 's  all  true  they  say  about  bread  on  the  waters,  you 
need  n't  want  much  better  luck  "  — 

He  never  finished  his  sentence.  Without  one  warning 
change  of  muscle,  Lyman's  face  squared  suddenly  round. 
A  back-handed  stroke  across  the  miserable,  mean,  dishon 
est  lips  stopped  their  speech.  Lightning,  such  as  no 
stormy  cloud  ever  sent  forth,  fell  upon  him  out  of  Ly 
man's  righteous  eyes. 

"Get  out  of  my  way,  Satan!"  he  thundered.  "I 
know  you  now.  You  are  what  I  have  suspected.  You  've 
been  robbing  me,  all  along  ;  and  now  you  think  I  'd  let 
you  help  me  rob  other  people  !  QUIT  !  " 

He  was  on  his  feet ;  his  face  was  pale  ;  he  was  awfully 
angry. 

Rawson  Morgan  cowered;  he  half  turned  to  go,  but 
he  stopped,  in  a  shrunken,  dogged  defiance,  to  withdraw 
his  play  with  a  threatening  sneer. 

"Ye 're  all -fired  pious  an'  mealy-mouthed,  Lyman 
Schott !  one  side  on  yer !  Butter  would  n't  melt  there, 


QUITTANCE.  295 

while  anybody  was  lookin'.  But  t'other,  —  Lo'd  Amighty's 
own  words  ain't  too  big  ner  too  blastin'  fer  yer !  Yer  've 
jumped  too  quick,  though ;  shows  what 's  in  yer  own  mind. 
'  Looked  about  so '  to  yer,  a  minute  ago.  I  c'n  swear  ter 
that !  " 

For  all  reply,  Lyman  made  one  slow  step  toward  him, 
the  lightning  streaming  vivid  from  his  eyes. 

The  sneak,  the  bully,  the  scoundrel,  backed  then,  and 
got  the  door  between  them.  Down  the  dark  stairs  he 
went  with  a  muttering  roar,  into  the  covering  whirl  and 
roar  of  the  machinery. 

"  By  the !  "  and  he  uttered  with  blasphemous  lips 

the  highest  title,  name,  and  attribute  to  seal  his  devilish 
vow,  "  if  I  don 't  slap  that  back  in  your  own  face,  with 

smart  and  ache  and  shame,  may  I  be to  everlastin' 

blazes !  " 

He  ground  the  last  words  hard  between  his  teeth  ;  for 
some  one  brushed  lightly  past  him  at  the  stairway  foot. 

He  went  off  through  the  din  of  the  moulding-room, 
past  the  men  working  at  their  different  noisy  posts  ;  black, 
frowning,  his  eyes  determinedly  cast  down. 

"  The  news  is  true,"  the  men  said.  "  And  it  must  be 
bad  enough." 

But  the  labor  went  on ;  the  wheels  whirled,  and  not  a 
hand  paused  from  its  duty.  Every  man  there  would  have 
worked  on  for  Lyman  Schott,  till  he  himself  gave  word  to 
stop,  whether  the  pay  should  come  or  not. 

Rawson  Morgan  walked  down  between  huge  piles  of 
lumber  to  the  waterside.  He  lived  beyond  the  hill,  across 
the  river ;  the  stream  ran  narrow  here,  between  the 
wharves,  and  a  light  little  foot-bridge,  with  a  hand-rail, 
made  communication  ;  it  was  always  his  way  of  going  to 
and  fro  ;  and  the  "  overside  "  lumber  was,  as  he  had  said, 
his  particular  charge. 


296  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Morgan  sat  down  upon  the  river-wall  below  the  looming 
heaps  that  stood  like  buildings  in  great  blocks  far  behind 
and  above  him,  toward  the  mill.  The  cove  wharf  lay 
obliquely  downwards  from  these  main  piles  upon  the  hither 
bluff.  The  land  opposite  rose  suddenly  from  the  farther 
brink,  making  an  amphitheatre-like  bend  around  the  pier, 
that  crossed  and  filled  nearly  the  entire  water-space.  All 
these  brinks,  and  the  rising  upland  beyond,  were  overhung 
and  covered  with  pasture  grass  and  shrubbery.  It  would 
be,  as  Morgan  had  suggested,  a  wild  place  for  a  grass-fire. 

The  opposite  wharf  looked  well  stocked ;  it  presented  a 
but  slightly  broken  front  of  edgewise  boards,  solid  stacks 
of  fine  clapboards  and  shingles,  with  long-lying  parallels 
of  joist  timbers  at  either  end.  A  fair  bit  of  property  by 
itself ;  only  Morgan  knew  how  the  body  of  it  was  thinned 
out,  beyond  what  the  record  of  true  sales  would  show. 

He  sat  and  regarded  it  morosely  ;  looking  up  and  down 
the  river  at  all  bearings,  holding  up  his  hand  once  or 
twice,  to  feel  the  way  of  the  wind. 

"  It 's  got  to  happen,  anyhow,"  he  mused ;  "  that 's  de 
creed.  It  would  have  ben  with  a  light  wind,  like  this, 
down  stream  from  the  cove,  ef  he  had  n't  ben  a  blasted 

pig-head  ;  ef  he  had  n't  struck, !  Now,  the  wind  '11 

be  up  river,  —  don't  take  so  much  difference  in  these 
crooks  t'  make  it  so,  's  fer  's  the  mill 's  concerned,  —  a  leetle 
south,  —  the  dry-spell  wind,  that 's  working  round  again 
now,  an'  that  alwers  blows  up  full  strength  just  afore  a 
shift  fer  rain.  It  '11  last  this  way  fer  a  week  'r  two,  like  's 
not ;  let  it !  an'  then  fer  a  breeder,  —  an'  between  that  an' 
a  sea-turn,  Mr.  Schott,  ef  things  should  transpire  '  a-ba-out 
so,'  't  was  only  the  way  it  <  looked '  t'  yerself,  aforehand. 
I  sh'll  be  up  to  Hopper's  Falls,  bein'  's  you  're  done  with 
me  ;  yer  need  n't  look  t'  me,  less  't  was  ter  testify  !  " 

He  sat  silent  a  minute  or  two  longer  ;  then  he  got  up, 


QUITTANCE.  297 

put  on  his  hat,  that  he  had  been  holding  in  his  hands, 
crowded  it  down  upon  his  head  viciously,  and  took  his 
way  across  the  bridge  and  the  lumber-pier,  and  over  the 
hillside,  through  the  dry,  wild  herbage  and  shrubbery  that 
showed  scarcely  a  noticeable  freshening  from  the  rain  of 
yesterday,  after  the  long  scorching  of  the  August  sun. 


XXXI. 

HOW  COULD  YOU  ? 

SERENA  had  come  over  to  The  Knolls  that  morning,  as 
soon  after  breakfast  as  she  had  made  sure  that  Peace 
Polly  was  not  coming,  the  very  first  thing,  to  her. 

Peace  Polly  had  her  mind  full  of  her  brother ;  of  Se 
rena  also.  She  was  in  doubt  how  to  meet  her  friend ; 
whether  to  go  to  her  or  not ;  what  to  tell  her,  —  what  to 
ask  her,  or  to  refrain  from  asking.  How  was  she  to  meet 
her  at  all,  with  this  unspoken  thing  between  them  ? 

Serena  came  over,  heart  and  eyes  full ;  words  of  eager 
inquiry  on  her  lips.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Peace  Polly's 
face,  she  knew,  though  it  was  not  troubled,  or  even  un- 
cheerful,  that  there  was  something  in  it  that  had  not  been 
there  when  she  saw  her  last.  A  certain  calm,  high  cheer 
sat  there,  as  if  enthroned  amid  all  else  that  some  new, 
deep  experience  of  the  days  had  brought  forth.  And  a 
dignity  of  reserve,  a  kind  of  waiting  judgment,  was  in 
the  eyes  and  on  the  composure  of  the  lips,  as  she  moved 
to  meet  her,  and  gave  her  first  greeting.  It  was  as  if 
they  had  changed  ages  suddenly. 

"  Peace  Polly,"  said  the  elder  woman,  looking  up  to 
the  girl  who  stood  so  tall  and  grave  and  serene,  "  the  news 
is  true,  then  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !  "  and  she  kept  the 
one  hand  Peace  Polly  had  given  her  in  a  close  hold,  and 
put  forth  her  own  other  hand  to  cover  it. 

Peace  Polly  felt  so  stiff,  so  dumb  !  her  eyes  would  stay 
so  unmovingly  on  Serena's  face !  She  did  not  mean  to 


HOW  COULD   YOU?  299 

look  so  ;  it  was  as  if   something  took  possession  of  her, 
and  looked  through  her,  refusing  to  look  otherwise. 

"  Are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  slowly,  almost  dreamily. 

"  Why,  Peace  Polly  !  what  should  I  be  ?  the  old  friend 
of  years !  —  Tell  me,  how  does  Lyman  take  it  ?  " 

"  Lyman  takes  it  like  a  strong  man ;  no,  he  takes  it 
like  a  child  of  God !  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  so  great  a  trouble,  then  ? "  cried  Serena. 
"  Will  it  mean  great  changes  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  about  the  changes  ;  I  do  not  think  he 
does.  Why,  Serena,  this  is  not  great  trouble  to  him ;  it  is 
worry,  it  is  uncertainty ;  loss,  more  or  less,  —  he  does  not 
know.  It  is  hard  work,  disappointment ;  but  not  great 
trouble.  I  think  people  cannot  have  that,  really,  more 
than  once  in  all  their  lives." 

"  Peace  Polly,  child,  how  different  you  are  !  What 
makes  you  so  ?  What  else  has  happened  ?  What  are  you 
thinking  of  ?  What  are  you  meaning  ?  " 

Then  the  something  in  Peace  Polly  that  would  look 
forth  from  her  still  eyes  took  speech,  and  uttered  itself  as 
involuntarily  through  her  lips. 

"  I  am  meaning  what  he  has  borne  all  these  years,  and 
I  never  knew.  All  these  years  that  you  have  been  saying 
to  me,  *  Lyman  Schott  is  a  good  man  ! '  Just  that ;  you 
have  kept  saying  that,  Serena ;  that  was  all  you  had  for 
him.  And  he  —  had  all  for  you  !  " 

Every  bit  of  color  fled  from  Serena's  face.  She  dropped 
Peace  Polly's  hand  out  of  hers,  and  slid  down  into  a  chair. 
She  looked  up,  as  one  suddenly  arraigned  for  an  old,  long- 
covered  guilt. 

"  You  know  that,  Peace  Polly  ?  Did  he  teU  you  ?  "  The 
one  question  sounded  of  dismay ;  the  other  had  in  it  some 
strange  leap  of  gladness,  or  of  hope. 

"  No,  indeed ;  he  never  said  one  word.     He  has  just 


300  BONNYBOROUGH. 

taken  what  you  laid  on  him,  and  borne  it.  But  I  know. 
Oh,  Serena,  this,  now,  is  not  the  trouble  of  his  life.  How 
could  you  do  it  ?  How  could  you  keep  to  it,  all  this  time 
that  he  has  waited  ?  And  you  only  saying  of  him,  always, 
He  is  a  good  man  !  " 

She  stood  like  the  woman's  accusing  angel,  —  this  girl 
who  had  been  petulant  with  her  brother,  who  had  gone  to 
the  other  with  complaints  of  little  things,  who  had  been 
vexed  to  hear  her  answer  always,  not  understanding  her 
sisterly  need  or  pain,  "  Lyman  Schott  is  a  good  man." 

"  Did  you  wait  for  him  to  be  better  ?  " 

Peace  Polly  uttered  the  question,  as  she  had  said  all 
else,  as  if  it  were  put  upon  her  so  to  do.  A  subtle  irony 
accented  the  slow  words.  They  went  straight  to  Serena 
Wyse's  conscience.  She  had  waited  for  him  to  be  better. 
What  right  had  she  had  to  claim,  to  postpone,  like  that  ? 

But  something  else  came  back  to  her,  and  she  justified 
herself. 

"  Peace  Polly,"  she  said,  as  quietly  as  Peace  Polly  had 
spoken  to  her,  "  I  should  not  have  done  it,  —  that  second 
time,  —  if  it  had  not  been  for  you.  You  had  just  quar 
reled  with  him,  you  wanted  to  live  separate,  and  he  came 
to  me.  I  could  not  take  him  so,  in  a  resentment,  and 
away  from  you." 

Then  the  reproachful  spirit  that  had  possessed  and  used 
the  young  girl  left  her,  deserted  her.  It  went  over  swiftly, 
and  sat  in  those  other  gently  remonstrant  eyes.  Peace 
Polly's  hands,  that  had  clasped  each  other  firmly,  fell  to 
her  sides.  A  keen  arrow-shaft  went  through  her  of  per 
ception,  of  remorse. 

"  There  was  a  second  time  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Did  I  do 
that,  Serena  ?  Am  I  to  blame  for  that,  too  ?  Oh,  where 
is  the  end  of  my  mistakes  ?  But  how  could  I  know  ?  " 
she  began  again.  "  It  was  years  before,  and  it  changed 


HOW  COULD   YOU?  301 

him.  You  are  to  blame  for  me,  Serena !  If  you  did  not 
break  his  heart  you  twisted  it,  you  shut  it  up.  I  did  not 
even  have  my  whole  brother.  And  I  did  not  know !  " 

Peace  Polly  sat  down  in  another  chair  and  cried.  Se 
rena  got  up,  then,  and  came  over  to  her.  "  What  are  we 
two  doing  for  him  now  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  are  still  his 
sister,  and  I  his  friend.  Why  don't  we  strengthen  the 
things  that  remain  ?  " 

And  then  the  two  women  put  their  arms  around  each 
other,  and  cried  together,  as  women  do  when  quarrel  and 
forgiveness  have  both  been  because  of  love. 

"  Do  not  tell  Lyman  I  have  been  here,  please !  "  Serena 
said  to  Peace  Polly,  when,  after  a  little  embracing  and  a 
few  self-accusing  words  and  a  little  comforting  each  way, 
she  got  up  to  go  home. 

Peace  Polly  would  not  let  a  tacit  promise  pass  without 
knowing  why.  If  they  were  to  strengthen  the  things  that 
remained,  she  would  keep  in  mind  the  first  part  of  that 
sentence,  and  "  be  watchful." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  have  an  errand  to  him,"  said  Serena,  "  and 
I  must  do  it,  just  as  I  meant  and  wanted  to  do  it  days  ago. 
I  have  been  thinking ;  I  have  been  afraid ;  this  is  not  the 
first  of  it,  to  me ;  but  I  did  not  suppose  it  would  come  so 
soon,  I  am  his  friend,  you  know,  Peace  Polly." 

Peace  Polly  felt  a  little  anxious  misgiving.  Lyman  was 
so  stiff,  she  thought,  in  some  things. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  a  real  sensible  errand  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  bit  of  a  smile.  "  Lyman  is  so  particular  with  his 
friends." 

"  It  is  something  I  have  wanted  of  him,  and  that  I  want 
now.  I  shall  ask  him,  just  the  same,"  Serena  said. 


XXXII. 

SERENA'S  ERRAND. 

As  the  creature  of  darkness,  breathing  evil  breath, 
went  on  down  the  passage  from  the  stair-foot  to  the  big 
swing-door  that  opened  into  the  machine-room,  a  creature 
of  light,  all  full  of  sweet  pulses  of  love  and  peace,  glided 
upward  through  the  gloom,  making  her  own  sunbeam  as 
she  went. 

Serena  stood  and  knocked  at  Lyman's  counting-room 
door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  The  words  were  half  questioning,  half 
repellent,  in  their  utterance.  How  differently,  indeed, 
those  two  words  can  be  spoken !  How  differently  our 
hearts  speak  them  to  whatsoever  may  be  knocking 
there  ! 

Lyman  did  not  think  that  Rawson  Morgan  had  turned 
back  upon  him  with  any  new  crawl,  or  slaver,  or  sting ; 
but  that  he  was  near,  and  might  have  done  so,  put  the 
doubt  and  half-repulse  into  his  voice.  Besides,  to  our  hu 
manity,  the  receding  edge  of  any  sphere  that  has  crossed 
and  touched  our  own  will  qualify  it  in  the  reception  of  the 
next  that  may  approach,  however  contrasting  and  amend 
ing  this  may  prove. 

"  It  is  I.  Shall  I  trouble  you  ?  "  came  the  gentle  an 
swer,  and  Serena  Wyse  was  in  the  opened  doorway. 

Lyman  came  down  off  his  high  desk-stool.  "  You,  Se 
rena  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  he  hastened  to  meet  her  and  to 
put  a  chair  for  her. 


SERENA'S  ERRAND.  303 

"  Yes,  Lyman.  I  have  an  errand.  I  won't  keep  you 
long." 

Not  a  word  of  any  news,  not  a  look  of  any  anxiety  or 
asking ;  simply  an  errand. 

"  First,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  this.  You  believe  I  always 
say  just  what  I  mean,  just  what  is  true  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  had  reason  to  think  so,"  Lyman  an 
swered,  not  without  a  touch  of  fine  significance. 

"  Then  take  every  word  as  I  say  it  now,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  '11  try ;  but,  Serena,  there  may  be  some  words  — 
Don't  give  me  any  that  would  be  hard  to  answer !  " 

She  did  not  stop  to  invent  a  meaning  for  his  words  that 
might  have  troubled  or  shamed  her.  She  would  have 
known  that  he  would  speak  none  such.  She  went  straight 
to  her  purpose. 

"  My  errand  had  been  waiting  for  a  week."  She  paused, 
as  if  to  bid  him  note  that  as  a  bit  of  statement,  and  receive 
it  on  the  compact  of  full  reliance.  "  I  have  been  thinking, 
wishing,  hesitating,  —  not  on  my  own  account,  but  only 
how  to  bring  my  wish  to  you.  Lyman,  I  have  had  some 
investments  come  back  upon  my  hands,  —  some  expired 
bonds.  I  have  been  uncertain  for  a  long  time  what  I  could 
do  when  they  fell  in.  And  now  they  have  come,  and  I 
have  thought  I  would  rather  the  money  should  go  into 
some  work  where  I  could  have  a  pleasure  in  it,  as  you  men 
do,  than  into  a  corporation.  Don't  say  anything.  Don't 
stop  me.  Listen  !  If  it  had  not  been  for  coming  to  you 
—  just  you — with  such  a  thing,"  —  Serena  said  this 
bravely,  that  he  might  feel  all  the  more  surely  that  her 
plain  business  meaning  was  true,  —  "I  should  have  asked 
you  sooner  if  you  could  use  it ;  if  you  would  let  me  put 
that  much  into  your  work  here,  and  how  much  interest  you 
could  pay  me  ?  It  is  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  It  has  been 
in  trust  bonds  of  a  Boston  company  for  as  many  years. 


304  BONNYBOROUGH. 

I  mean  for  fifteen,"  she  added,  laughing  at  herself ;  but 
at  once  resuming,  "  Now  I  want  it  near  home." 

It  was  every  word  true,  as  she  had  said.  It  was  a 
woman's  notion,  to  whom  business,  while  subject  to  its  own 
laws  and  limits,  is  yet  a  piece  and  part  of  the  eternal  life 
that  men  are  living.  She  wanted  her  money  to  go  some 
how  into  that,  where  she  could  see  what  it  was  doing,  whom 
it  was  helping,  what  it  meant  and  stood  for,  besides  her 
coupons.  And  it  was  also  just  as  true,  though  she  did  not 
feel  bound  to  put  it  on  that  ground,  that  Lyman  Schott, 
under  the  pressure  of  his  accumulating  care  and  respon 
sibility,  was  the  man  whose  work  she  wanted  it  to  help. 
Perhaps  some  indistinct  idea  had  come  in  that  he  would 
be  more  careful,  would  be  less  likely  to  take  bold,  harass 
ing  risk,  if  her  little  property  were  with  his  own.  And 
without  a  perhaps  she  had  watched  his  anxieties,  had 
feared  for  some  burden  under  which  he  might  be  bending 
too  nearly  to  the  giving  way ;  and  with  a  woman's  whether 
or  no,  which  is  her  final  argument,  had  made  up  her  mind. 

Lyman  was  a  very  perplexed  and  astonished  man.  When 
a  man  is  astonished  and  perplexed,  it  is  his  ordinary  nature 
to  be  a  little  vexed  as  well. 

"  Twice  in  one  morning  !  "  he  ejaculated,  involuntarily, 
with  wonder  and  slight  impatience.  "  Serena,"  collecting 
himself,  "  you  are  good  —  too  good ;  but  "  —  the  slight 
impatience  recurring,  in  spite  of  what  touched  him  in 
her  offer  —  "  it  is  a  mistake.  I  don't  want  anybody's 
money." 

He  might  have  said  something  different  from  that. 
Was  she  "  anybody "  ?  Yet  she  bore  that,  even,  and 
whatever  other  misconstruction  might  be  put  upon  her 
persistence. 

"  Lyman,"  she  said,  "  try  to  think  it  is  a  man-friend 
instead  of  me,  —  a  man,  who  ought  to  know  perfectly  well 
what  he  was  about." 


SERENA'S  ERRAND.  305 

"  But  it  is  n't,  and  you  don't.  He  would  n't,  just  at 
this  moment.  Have  n't  you  heard,  Serena,  that  the  Hath- 
ertons  have  failed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  since  I  made  up  my  mind ;  but  that  has  n't  al 
tered  it,  not  a  particle,  either  way.  I  know  you,  and  that 
you  have  n't  chanced  anything  that  you  could  n't  honestly 
meet.  Only  —  yes,  I  was  glad  that  I  had  it ;  because  I 
know  this  much  of  business,  that  when  a  person  has  a  good 
deal  out,  even  a  little  may  come  in  at  a  welcome  time.  I 
know  there  are  corners  to  time  ;  if  this  would  be  the  least 
help  to  you  round  this  one,  —  but  I  did  n't  offer  it  for 
help,"  she  ended.  "  I  would  like  to  have  it  here." 

She  returned  to  her  first  position,  and  made  her  stand 
there,  shutting  up  her  lips.  She  could  say  just  so  much, 
with  truth  ;  yet  she  must  be  cautious  of  any  unconsidered 
multiplication  of  words. 

"  Won't  you  do  it  for  me  ?  "  was  all  she  added,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"  I  have  just  refused  to  do  a  —  no,  it  was  n't  a  similar, 
it  was  precisely  a  contrary,  thing,"  said  Lyman,  an  odd 
expression  flitting  over  his  face  as  he  corrected  himself. 
"  Did  n't  you  meet  Rawson  Morgan  on  the  stairs  ?  " 

"  Somebody  passed  me.  Was  that  Morgan  ?  I  did  n't 
see.  He  was  grumbling,  Lyman ;  he  was  angry.  What 
had  you  done  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  sent  him  off  ;  he  's  a  scheming  rascal.  I  ought 
to  have  sent  him  off  long  ago  ;  but  I  was  n't  sure.  He 
has  been  fishing  for  a  partnership  this  good  while ;  and 
he  thought,  now,  I  was  to  be  bought !  —  bought  into  a  piece 
of  knavery !  I  don't  want  any  partnerships  ;  I  don't  want 
anybody's  money  risked.  I  Ve  always  paddled  my  own 
canoe,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  take  in  help  now,  because 
rapids  are  in  sight.  All  the  same,  I  thank  you,  Serena. 
I  knew,  without  this,  that  you  were  my  friend."  And  he 

20 


306  BONNYBOROUGH. 

held  out  a  warm,  steady  hand.  "  You  must  n't  mind  my 
being  plain.  I  've  no  time  to  chisel  my  sentences.  I  've 
heavy  work  to  do,  and  the  whole  load  is  left  on  my  shoul 
ders.  Yet  I  'm  relieved  he  's  gone." 

Serena  was  dumb.  He  "  did  not  want  partnerships." 
That  word  silenced  her.  She  knew  he  did  not  mean  it 
to  ;  that  it  was  accidental,  its  touching  her  ;  but  she  had 
got  her  refusal,  and  her  remonstrances  were  at  an  end. 
Only  she  said,  as  he  still  held  her  hand  kindly,  and  she 
looked  up,  pure  and  brave,  into  his  face,  — 

"  If  you  were  in  the  rapids,  Lyman,  and  I  could  throw 
you  a  rope,  would  n't  you  let  me  ?  " 

"Not  that  kind  of  a  rope.  I  tell  you,  Serena,  I 
would  n't  involve  anybody.  If  you  were  my  —  if  you 
were  Peace  Polly,  I  would  not  use  your  money  so." 

He  had  not  called  her  his  sister,  as  he  seemed  to  have 
come  near  to  do  ;  or  had  he  begun  to  say  just  that  ?  She 
was  glad  he  had  stopped  short  of  it ;  something  made  her 
hand  tremble  a  little  in  his,  and  she  withdrew  it. 

She  took  up  another  matter. 

"  It  troubles  me  that  you  should  have  made  an  enemy 
just  now,  and  that  you  should  be  left  alone." 

"  One  is  better  without  an  enemy  inside  the  camp, 
surely,"  returned  Lyman. 

"  But  he  's  a  snake,"  said  Serena.  A  woman,  since 
Eve's  day,  could  scarcely  say  more  than  that,  of  contempt 
or  dread. 

"  I  've  had  warning,"  said  Lyman.  "  I  've  heard  his 
rattle.  I  'm  not  afraid." 

"  But  he  's  off  in  the  grass,"  said  Serena.  "  You  don't 
know  where  he  is,  or  how  he  '11  strike." 

"An  honest  man  is  not  afraid,"  repeated  Lyman. 
"  He  's  better  off  than  on." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Serena,  lingeringly.     "  I  Ve  done  my 


SERENA'S  ERRAND.  307 

errand,  and  I  've  failed,  for  now.  But  if  you  ever  think 
differently  "  — 

"  I  hardly  ever  do  l  think  differently,'  "  said  Lyman, 
smiling.  And  his  eyes  had  that  steadfast  look  that  in  some 
things  people  read  for  obstinacy.  Serena  knew  that  it 
meant  one  truth  for  everything,  all  back  into  all  the  years  ; 
back  to  where  he  had  first  left  her  so,  and  on  through  all 
the  time  that  afterward  he  had  stayed  away.  She  knew 
now,  —  for  she  never  doubted  Peace  Polly's  certainty  of 
something  more  than  she  had  said  ;  she  had  not  dared  to 
question  her  further,  but  her  charge  had  driven  convic 
tion  straight  home  with  it,  —  she  knew  now  the  one  deep 
thing,  deeper  than  she  had  ever  seen  or  understood,  that 
it  had  been  with  him,  and  that  he  had  not  "  thought  dif 
ferently." 

But  she  knew  also  that  in  that  unwaveringness  of  his 
were  decisions  not  to  be  reconsidered. 

She  could  only  hope  to  be  his  friend,  —  it  was  all  she 
had  left  to  herself,  —  but  she  would  be  that  until  she 
died. 

He  went  with  her  to  see  her  safely  down  the  dark  stair- 
"way.  In  the  passage  below,  he  took  a  little  key  from  his 
pocket,  and  opened  a  side  door  into  the  sunshine.  He 
would  not  let  her  go  down  through  the  machine-room, 
past  all  those  men. 

When  he  reached  his  office  again,  he  stood  thinking  a 
moment  before  he  went  back  to  his  desk. 

"  Two  partnerships,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  queer 
humor :  "  one  that  I  would  n't  have,  and  one  that 
would  n't  take  me.  And  both,  with  just  those  dead 
weights  against  them,  coming  to  me  to-day  with  money. 
Life  's  a  strange  thing,  and  worlds  are  mixed.  The  dev 
ils  and  the  angels  go  up  and  down  together ;  no  wonder 
we  want  the  telling  of  the  sure  foundation.  '  The  Lord 


308  BONNYBOROUGH. 

knoweth  them  that  are  his  ! '  and  if  He  knows  that,  He 
knows  the  rest  of  it,  —  them  that  are  each  other's,  and 
how  to  sort  us  out  at  last.  It 's  all  one  !  " 

And  with  that,  he  set  his  brows,  and  went  back  to  his 
books  again. 


XXXIII. 

BONNYBOROUGH    IS   BUSY. 

IN  individual  life,  in  families,  in  communities,  in  na 
tions,  in  the  church,  and  in  the  world,  it  is  undoubtedly 
and  historically  true  that  not  only  one  event  brings  on  an 
other,  in  natural  cause  and  sequence,  and  thus  that  things 
gather  to  epochs  ;  but  also  that  quite  different  and  uncon 
nected  occurrences  come  and  crowd  toward  one  point,  like 
meteoric  showers  through  which  the  earth's  path  passes. 
Cause  and  connection  are  simply  in  the  realm  above  our 
cognizance  ;  reason  why  is  in  the  Thought  that  no  man 
can  search  or  fathom. 

Follow  any  little  human  story,  however  simple,  and 
you  will  come  to  such  conjunctures ;  in  a  made-up  story, 
if  stories  ever  are  or  can  be  entirely  that,  people  say  it  is 
all  in  the  make-up.  Very  well ;  we  transcribers  will  pa 
tiently  suffer  the  accrediting  that  is  thrust  upon  us,  and 
only  tell  the  tales  as  we  feel  them  told. 

Bonnyborough  was  having  enough  to  talk  and  to  think 
of  in  these  days ;  enough  that  transpired  openly,  and  in 
terested  all.  Underneath,  and  quietly  alongside  and  in 
terwoven,  a  great  deal  that  it  did  not  know  was  working. 
It  was  a  mercy  to  the  general  sanity  that  it  could  not 
know  all.  Did  you  ever  think  what  would  become  of  us 
if  we  should  be  possessed  of  all,  in  every  detail,  that  is 
happening  around  us  ?  We  pick  curiously  at  the  pre 
sented  edges ;  we  guess,  and  peer,  and  theorize  ;  and  we 
do  not  know  that  if  we  were  obliged  to  know  all  we 


310  BONNYBOROUGH. 

should  be  possessed  indeed  by  the  legion  that  would  drive 
us  wild. 

Dr.  Blithecome  was  buried  on  the  Saturday.  Every 
body  went  to  the  funeral ;  everybody  was  in  tears.  A 
good,  faithful,  helpful  life  was  ended  ;  a  face  had  van 
ished  that  had  carried  cheer  wherever  it  went ;  a  strength 
and  wisdom  had  been  withdrawn  in  the  safety  of  which 
mothers  of  little  children  had  slept  secure  that  it  was 
close  by,  sufferers  had  borne  their  pain  better  in  the 
intervals  between  the  encouragements  and  assuagings  of 
its  presence,  they  who  knew  they  must  die  had  looked  for 
ward  more  bravely  to  the  last  dark  hour,  for  the  hope 
that  when  the  Lord  should  stand  by  in  spirit  to  receive 
their  souls  the  good  doctor  would  stand  upon  the  earthly 
side  to  minister  to  the  last  bodily  need  and  extremity. 

There  would  be  a  time  when  Bonnyborough  would  not 
be  sure  whom  it  had  for  a  doctor ;  and  this  is  a  terrible 
interregnum  to  a  country  folk. 

There  were  three  new  tin  signs  in  the  village,  already ; 
these  always  freckle  out  quickly  enough.  There  was  Dr. 
Fuller,  whom  everybody  knew  the  old  doctor  had  chosen 
and  preferred.  But  here  came  in  the  question  and  the 
talk ;  would  he  stay  among  them  ?  Along  after  this 
trailed  the  whole  fragmentary  hearsay  from  which  were 
to  be  gathered  pros  or  cons. 

Why  was  he  here,  away  from  his  home  and  his  wife  ? 
Why  was  his  wife  off  there  in  Europe  ?  What  separated 
them,  and  in  fact  who  knew  anything  about  them  ?  Would 
he  come  here  without  his  family  ?  Would  he  bring  his 
family  here?  Would  the  family  ever  consent  to  be 
brought  ?  Would  it  be  a  comfortable  sort  of  thing,  any 
way,  for  Bonnyborough  people  ? 

Meanwhile,  the  sick  ones,  to  a  patient,  following  their 
dear  doctor's  last  wishes  and  advice,  sent  for  Dr.  Fuller. 


BONNYBOROUGH  IS  BUSY.  311 

He  was  their  remedy  prescribed.  The  matter  was  like  to 
settle  itself,  provided  Dr.  Fuller  would  remain.  And  so 
the  discussion  completed  its  continued  round,  and  re 
verted  to  the  first  question. 

Then,  there  was  Lyman  Schott's  trouble.  Everybody 
knew  that  it  was  a  trouble,  and  everybody  wondered, 
with  more  or  less  of  sympathy,  how  far  it  would  go. 
Necessarily,  his  history  had  to  be  discussed,  also.  He 
had  buried  himself  in  his  mill  and  his  lumber-piles ;  he 
had  kept  himself  aloof  from  everything  else,  and  from  al 
most  everybody ;  how  would  it  be  with  him  if  he  lost  his 
money,  and  his  business  broke  down  ?  Had  n't  he  been 
laying  up  too  much  of  his  treasure  on  earth  ?  Some  of  the 
goody  ones  wondered  that,  who  had  never  seemed  to  have 
very  much  treasure  themselves  to  invest  anywhere. 

Miss  Serena  did  not  escape.  She  was  "  great  "  with 
the  Schotts  in  these  days.  Everybody  knew  how  much 
more  The  Knolls  and  the  Wyse-Place  had  been  neigh 
boring  after  the  old  fashion ;  the  latter  was  pretty  much 
the  only  house  Lyman  ever  did  go  to  ;  and  though  time 
had  been,  and  a  good  long  time,  when  it  was  the  special 
one  he  stayed  away  from,  people  could  remember  things 
before  that,  even.  All  was  resuscitated,  now,  and  re- 
descanted  on  ;  a  real  good  old  tale,  half  forgotten,  and 
well  brought  up  again,  has  a  charm,  sometimes,  beyond 
even  that  of  a  new,  contemporaneous  fiction.  Bonny- 
borough  could  have  solved  all  Lyman's  troubles  for  him, 
very  comfortably,  it  thought,  if  only  he  had  not  always 
been  such  an  odd  stickleback  of  a  man  ;  and  Serena,  — 
well,  they  had  n't  made  her  out;  they  did  n't  know,  to 
tell  the  truth,  what  she  had  been,  a  fool  or  a  wise  woman. 

And  in  her  turn  came  up  Peace  Polly ;  after  her,  on 
the  docket,  in  suggestive  association,  —  though  semi-de 
tached  in  the  gossipry  of  the  place  since  Miss  Mallis's 


312  BONNYBOROUGH. 

diversion  and  shrewdly  sown,  untraceable  bits  of  contrary 
comment,  —  the  new  young  rector  ;  the  Institution,  which 
was  to  be  so  soon ;  the  Bishop's  visit,  following  after ;  the 
Confirmation,  and  the  candidates. 

Peace  Polly,  once  more.  Would  n't  she  be  confirmed  ? 
She  was  n't  in  the  class  ;  and  why  not  ?  Then  the  young 
clergyman  again,  and  Rose  Howick  ?  ?  Here  were  double 
interrogation-marks,  and  no  satisfactory  answer  to  any 
thing. 

Bonnyborough  had  more  upon  its  hands  than  it  could 
well  attend  to. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  interests  and  agitations  Peace 
Polly  went  quietly  to  Dr.  Farron. 

"  It  is  not  you  I  want ;  it  is  the  rector,"  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Dora,  who  met  her  eagerly  and  kindly  at  the  door. 

"  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  said  the  rector's  wife  ;  "  yet  all  the 
same,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  myself.  I  know  my  place  ;  I 
can  give  way  modestly  ;  but  I  'm  glad  to  show  you  in." 
And  she  led  her  along  to  the  study  door,  and  threw  it 
open.  "  Sebastian,"  she  said,  "  here  's  Peace,  —  come  to 
your  house  and  you,  without  an  invocation." 

"  Wifie  !  "  remonstrated  Dr.  Farron,  rising  and  turning 
round.  But "  Wifie  "  was  gone,  and  the  door  was  shut.  He 
came  forward  to  Peace  Polly,  and  held  out  both  his 
hands.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  child,"  he  said. 
"  I  knew  you  would  come." 

"  Then  may  be  you  know  why,"  said  Peace  Polly,  let 
ting  him  seat  her  beside  him  on  the  long,  deep  sofa  that 
filled  the  alcove  of  the  pleasant  garden-window. 

"  Because  the  dear  Lord  has  led  you,"  said  Dr.  Farron. 
"  And  because  I  knew  He  was  bringing  you  his  own  way, 
I  have  not  said  a  word  before." 

Peace  Polly  did  not  answer  that  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  she  said  then,  "  that  I  had  come 


BONNYBOROUGH  IS  BUSY.  313 

now,  because  so  many  things  are  happening  that  I  might 
get  interrupted  and  prevented.  But  you  have  explained 
everything,"  she  added,  shyly.  "Only  we  have  to  say 
why  we  think  we  have  done  things,  you  know." 

"  *  As  from  ourselves,  yet  knowing  that  it  is  from  the 
Lord.'  A  very  wise  man  said  that,  himself  led  and  en 
lightened,"  said  Dr.  Farron.  "It  is  a  good  word,  —  a 
great  word,  well  spoken  ;  only  some  have  forgotten  that 
it  and  others  have  been  given  before,  among  the  'all 
things  necessary  to  our  salvation.'  Why,  do  you  think," 
the  good  man  asked,  carefully  adhering  to  her  own  phrase, 
"  you  have  not  come  sooner  ?•" 

"  I  have  not  wanted  to  do  anything  just  by  the  book," 
Peace  Polly  answered,  speaking  low,  yet  firmly. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  returned  the  old  rector.  "  You 
wish  that  everything  you  do  shall  be  very  real  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  almost  think  that  if  everything  done  by  the 
Prayer-Book  were  done  really  we  might  not  have  need  of 
it  any  more,  at  all.  And  if  it  is  not  "  — 

She  stopped.  The  rector  passed  over,  for  the  moment, 
the  last  unfinished  word,  though  the  drift  of  their  alterna 
tive  was  obvious  enough. 

"  If  it  were,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  realized,  and  we  should  be  in  the  Church  Trium 
phant.  To  that  very  end  we  want  now  that  which  teaches 
and  leads  us  continually  in,  the  ways  of  the  kingdom.  The 
Prayer-Book  is  the  Church's  showing  forth  of  that  which 
shall  be,  in  the  King's  name,  until  He  come.  The  chil 
dren  of  the  Church  have  the  pattern  of  the  things  in  the 
heavens,  that  they  may  live  more  and  more  into  them. 
And  every  promise  is  an  '  I  will,  with  the  help  of  God.' 
*  Our  help  is  in  the  Name  of  the  Lord.'  ' 

"  But  it  is  so  easy  to  say  words,  Dr.  Farron !  And 
whole  congregations  saying  them  every  Sunday ;  and  the 


314  ^        BONNYBOROUGH. 

world-congregation,  what  it  is,  all  the  week  through,  after 
all!" 

"  Nevertheless,  *  the  Lord  is  in  his  holy  temple  ; '  and 
his  temple  is  his  Word,  and  his  Church,  and  every  sepa 
rate  human  heart.  He  will  make  a  congregation  of  clean 
hearts,  with  the  truth  in  them,  at  last,  Peace !  'In  every 
place  incense  shall  be  offered  to  his  name,  and  a  pure  of 
fering.'  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  his  Name  is  every 
word  by  which  He  has  spoken  himself,  in  sign  or  speech  ? 
And  how  shall  we  learn  without  a  preacher  ?  It  must  be 
set  forth  to  us,  and  we  must  look  to  it,  and  search  to 
know  it,  and  live  it  out,  by  little  obediences,  one  by  one, 
until  the  kingdom  comes  to  us.  If  we  had  not  the  word, 
how  should  we  ever  reproach  ourselves  for  not  having  that 
which  the  word  stands  for  ?  '  My  Word ! '  '  my  Name  ! ' 
they  are  what  He  has  proclaimed  to  us,  in  all  his  dealing 
and  teaching.  '  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away,  but 
my  word  shall  not  pass  away,  in  no  wise,  not  in  one  jot  or 
one  tittle,  till  all  be  fulfilled.'  '  Blessed  is  the  man  who 
cometh  in  the  Name  of  the  Lord  ! ' ' 

The  good  rector  spoke  that  which  burned  up  from  his 
heart ;  his  face  was  lighted  with  it ;  his  eyes  were  lifted, 
like  pure  flames  that  sought  upward. 

Peace  Polly  was  moved  ;  she  was  drawn  upward  also. 
*'  I  am  glad  I  came  to  you,"  she  said. 

"And  you  will  come  for  the  promise,  and  the  bless 
ing  ?  "  Dr.  Farron  asked. 

Then  Peace  Polly  spoke  to  him  from  out  her  heart : 
telling  him  of  her  faults,  her  struggles,  her  mistakes  ;  of 
things  that  it  was  her  fault  now  that  they  were  not  other 
wise  for  others ;  of  the  poor  thing  she  had  made  of  her 
life,  so  far ;  of  the  little,  and  the  spoilt,  it  was,  to  bring 
and  make  an  offering  of,  —  all  this  not  in  full,  measured 
sentences,  or  careful  detail  of  circumstance,  but  as  the 


BONNYBOROUGH  IS  BUSY.  315 

minister  drew  her  on  and  helped  her  see  and  show  her 
self,  that  he  might  see  how  to  give  her  the  help  he  was 
intrusted  with. 

"  It  is  all  so  miserable,  so  frittered  into  bits,  so  out  of 
joint,"  she  said.  "  And  how  can  I  tell  that  it  will  be  any 
better  ?  " 

"  You  are  told  how,  my  child ;  you  could  not  tell.  It 
is  when  we  feel  all  broken  up  and  wasted,  and  that  we 
can  only  bring  the  bits  to  God,  that  He  says  Come,  and 
He  will  take  us,  and  mend  us,  and  make  us  whole  again. 
'  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit ; '  '  rend  your 
heart,  and  turn  unto  the  Lord  your  God,  for  He  is  gra 
cious  and  merciful,  and  of  great  kindness,  and  repenteth 
Him  of  the  evil.'  What  is  that  but  the  word  to  come  to 
Him,  with  the  broken  and  rent  of  our  lives  and  our  selves, 
as  a  child  to  its  mother  with  a  torn  garment,  that  it  may 
be  made  good  again,  and  that  new  may  be  given  ?  '  He 
repenteth  Him;  '  He  takes  the  turning  and  changing  upon 
Himself.  And  hear  what  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  says,  — 
*  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit ;  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  ! '  and  think,  too,  that  it  was  his  own  body  that 
was  broken  for  our  bodies,  his  own  life  that  was  poured 
out  for  our  lives !  Was  not  that  *  repenting  Him  '?" 

"  Broken  for  our  bodies  ?  "  repeated  Peace  Polly,  in 
quiringly,  as  with  surprise. 

"  '  That  our  bodies  may  be  made  clean  by  his  body/  — 
that  is  what  we  pray  in  the  Communion  service,"  returned 
the  Doctor.  "  Is  not  the  body  the  form  of  life,  the  cloth 
ing  and  the  circumstance  of  it,  the  garment  of  spirit  ?  Is 
not  that  what  we  have  spoiled,  and  want  to  have  made 
clean  again?  Did  He  not  lay  aside  his  heavenly  gar 
ment,  that  He  might  stoop  down  to  wash  even  our  feet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  is  all  that  in  those  words  ?  "  cried  Peace  Polly, 
with  a  great  gladness. 


316  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  All  that,  and  more.  In  every  word,  there  is  the  sav 
ing,  the  enlightening,  the  whole  mystery  of  the  eternal 
life.  They  are  miracle-doors  into  the  everlasting  glory. 
It  seems  as  if  it  hardly  mattered  which  were  opened  to 
us.  And  we  have  them  all  there,  kept  and  handed  down 
to  us  through  the  blessed  company  that  has  believed,  and 
has  had  the  sight." 

Peace  Polly  stood  up.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not  hear 
any  more,  just  now.  She  had  thought  about  "  experienc 
ing  her  Prayer-Book."  Was  this  but  the  beautiful  begin 
ning  of  it  ?  What  should  the  great,  the  exhaustless  fulfill 
ment  of  it  be  ? 

She  stood  silent.  Dr.  Farron  took  her  hand  within 
his  own,  and  stood  silent  also. 

"  I  will  come,"  said  Peace  Polly,  then,  softly. 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee ;  the  Lord  lift  up 
his  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace ! " 

As  the  good  clergyman  uttered  his  benediction,  the  girl 
felt  as  if  she  had  received  her  name  in  a  new  baptism. 

She  smiled,  and  went  away.  As  she  stood  upon  the 
doorstep,  she  made  one  request.  "  Don't  speak  of  it, 
please,  Dr.  Farron,"  she  said.  "  Except,  if  you  wish,  to 
Mrs.  Farron.  I  don 't  want  to  talk  any  more,  and  I  don't 
want  other  people  to  talk  at  all." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  the  Doctor  told  her. 


XXXIV. 

ENLISTED. 

IF  Dr.  Farron  had  waited  for  and  expected  Peace 
Polly,  he  certainly  had  never,  in  like  manner,  waited  for 
or  expected  the  visitor  who  came  to  him  twenty-four  hours 
later,  and  was  shown  in  as  she  had  been. 

Dr.  Fuller  was  an  old  friend  ;  he  was  familiar  at  the 
rectory,  but  he  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  seeking  Dr. 
Farron  in  his  study  for  any  especial,  private  conversation. 
He  seemed  rather,  in  their  intercourse,  to  have  avoided 
opportunity  or  topic  that  might  have  led  to  personal  dis 
cussion  of  the  things  of  Dr.  Farron's  ministry.  The  rec 
tor  knew  as  little  of  the  physician's  inmost  mind  upon 
those  subjects  as  it  is  possible  for  one  friend  to  know  of 
another.  He  could  only  judge  by  what  the  other  chose 
to  show.  There  was  never  slighting,  cavil,  or  irreverence ; 
there  was  -simply  silence.  When  scientific  interest,  or  the 
sympathies  of  life,  touched  that  verge  where  it  would  seem 
reserve  must  lift  a  little,  showing  that  what  had  seemed 
distant  was  not  really  separate,  but  only  a  more  glo 
rious  reach  in  the  same  direction,  the  horizon-line  fixed 
itself  as  if  among  great  mountains,  always  there,  but  not 
to  be  unveiled  by  any  small  comparative  approach ;  wait 
ing,  in  remote  sublimities,  until  the  traveler  should  be 
himself  among  them. 

It  was  not  Dr.  Fuller's  way  to  declare,  or  to  impose, 
conclusions ;  the  habit  of  his  mind  and  search  was  to  show 
that  which  led  toward  them,  —  it  might  be  very  closely ; 


318  BONNYBOROUGH. 

even  so,  he  would  draw  back  when  he  had  done,  and 
leave  others  to  conclude,  or  to  draw  uncertain  inference 
of  his  own  persuasions.  Many  a  help  to  deep  and  strong 
analogy,  or  immediate  mighty  indication,  had  the  man  of 
science  given  to  the  man  of  faith,  but  he  left  them  with 
him  there  ;  of  his  own  faith  he  said,  directly,  nothing. 

So  now,  when  Dr.  Farron  put  aside  the  sheets  of  the 
sermon  he  was  writing,  and  came  forward  with  ready 
welcome,  he  had  no  least  suspicion  of  the  present  errand 
of  the  man  before  him. 

But  Dr.  Fuller  was  not  a  person  to  put  off  an  explana 
tion,  or  to  make  many  words  where  he  had  first  made  up 
his  mind. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  said,  "  to  ask  to  be  enrolled." 

u  Enrolled  !  My  dear  sir !  —  is  it  possible  you  mean  in 
the  Church  ?  " 

"  Possible,  and  true.     I  have  never  done  it  before." 

"  And  why  not  ? "  was  the  natural  inquiry  ;  but  Dr. 
Farron  did  not  put  it.  He  waited  for  his  friend's  next 
word.  He  was  very  wise  in  waiting,  this  tarrier  for  the 
Lord. 

"  It  is  not  that  I  have  not  believed,"  said  Dr.  Fuller. 
"Perhaps  it  is  rather  that  —  so  far  as  I  have  got  —  I 
have  believed  more  than  I  have  always  found  set  for  me. 
I  have  never  wished  to  take  upon  me  that  whose  full 
meaning  seemed  to  me  so  tremendously  more  than  it  was 
generally  accepted  for." 

Dr.  Farron  sat  still,  and  thought  within  himself :  "  Here 
are  two  real  souls,  with  the  same  thought  in  them !  Do 
they  know,  or  divine  it,  of  each  other,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Instead  of  saying  that,  however,  he  asked  Dr.  Fuller  if 
he  thought  the  general  acceptation  would  be  made  the 
larger  or  truer  for  the  holding  back  of  such  as  saw  what 
he  saw. 


ENLISTED.  319 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  other's  answer.  "  I  should  only 
be  afraid  of  falling  to  the  general  level  myself." 

"  And  what  is  to  keep  you  up,  now  ?  " 

"The  grace  of  God,  I  hope,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  simply. 

"  Forgive  me ;  I  do  not  mean  to  treat  you  as  a  boy ; 
but  you  interest  me  greatly.  Do  you  mind  my  ques 
tions  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  any  that  I  can  answer." 

"  What  has  persuaded  you,  now,  of  this  grace  of 
God?" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  persuaded  differently  ;  I 
will  just  come  and  take  it,  — if  I  may." 

"  Surely  you  may  ;  but  if  you  have  known  and  believed 
that  it  was  always  there  ?  " 

Dr.  Fuller  turned  somewhat  more  squarely  to  his  com 
panion,  and  lifted  up  his  head,  with  a  full,  declaring  look 
in  his  serious  eyes. 

"  I  have  believed  that  it  was  everywhere,"  he  said  ; 
"  for  every  man,  as  the  truth  is,  —  lying  open  to  the 
search.  I  have  lived  for  truth,  —  I  have  worked  in  fact ; 
I  have  found  fact  but  the  outshown  presentment  of  some 
thing  always  greater  than  itself ;  of  a  meaning  that  lay 
somewhere  in  a  Mind.  Science  has  never  made  me 
doubt ;  that  my  thought  could  search  for  that  which  was 
hidden  made  me  continually  sure  that  the  thing  hidden 
was  a  word,  from  a  Thought  also.  As  to  the  Church,  I 
have  never  doubted  a  revelation  committed  to  men ;  a 
spiritual  order  and  fellowship  into  which  God  must  gather 
men,  to  be  of  his  household.  I  know  He  could  not  be, 
and  never  say  to  his  children,  '  I  Am.'  And  I  find  this 
self-presentment  in  the  Christ,  as  I  find  the  separate  pre 
sentments  of  his  word  in  the  things  that  He  has  made. 
But  I  have  esteemed  the  order  and  fellowship  in  humanity 
a  more  wholly  spiritual  thing  than  is  set  forth  in  any  body ; 


320  BONNYBOROUGH. 

at  least,  the  feeling  of  this  has  kept  me  from  the  visible 
church-membership.  I  have  not  questioned  that  the  re 
ality  was  in  the  Church,  but  that  it  was  kept  there  only. 
I  have  not  been  willing  to  subscribe  to  an  exclusiveness." 

Dr.  Fuller  paused. 

"  Was  it  an  exclusiveness  in  the  Lord,  and  in  his 
Twelve,  when  they  only  had  the  Good  News  in  all  the 
earth  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Farron. 

"  No.  I  am  quite  with  you  in  your  principle,  in  your 
faith  and  your  argument,"  said  Dr.  Fuller  ;  "  but  men  — 
and  bodies  of  men  — have  made  it  exclusive." 

"  That  may  be,  —  that  has  been,  and  is.     It  always 
must  be  with  imperfect  creatures.     The  disciples  asked 
for  them  to  be  utterly  forbidden  who  walked  not  with 
themselves.     But  while  this  may  be  the  danger,  the  alter 
native  is  a  greater  danger ;  the  disintegration  of  Christ's 
body,  until  each  member  says  to  all  the  others,  I  have  no 
need  of  ye !     And  I  think  there  must  be  something  exclu 
sive,  if  you   call   it  so,  but   not  conceit  of   narrowness, 
which  has  to  exclude  all  but  the  simple,  common,  catholic 
truth.     God  is  One  ;  his  household  is  one.     I  cannot  find 
any  fellowship  which    maintains    that  essential  unity  of 
faith   and  promise  of    all    knowledge,  save   the  historic 
Christian  Church.     She  stands  for  that  in  the  integrity  of 
its  first  commission.     She  is  sure,  I  believe,  to  shake  off 
—  and  doubtless  the  departures  have  rebuked  her  into 
much  shaking  off  of  them  —  the  adhering  errors,  if  only 
she  hold  fundamentally  to  that.     The  Lord  planted  in 
her  the  mustard  seed  that  was  to  grow  into  the  great  tree, 
in  which  all  thoughts  should  find  room,  all  searchings  rest. 
And  so,  a  churchman  must  needs  be  a  churchman,  loyal 
to  his  household  and  his  inheritance,  though  he  be  called 
for  it  a  mere  ecclesiast  and  dogmatist.     Ecclesiast  let  him 
be  ;  since  *  Ecclesia  '  is  the  '  House,'  God's  Horn®  with  his 
family." 


ENLISTED,  321 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  "  if  the  family  abide  in  the 
house,  —  if  the  life  is  there  ;  if  it  be  not  a  mere  house 
hold  of  things  which  the  heirs  of  it  keep  in  beautiful 
order,  indeed,  from  their  pride  and  a  certain  conscience  ; 
paying  stewards  and  housekeepers  for  the  duty  ;  but  to 
and  from  which  they  only  come  and  go  casually,  turning 
the  key  meanwhiles,  and  living,  practically,  elsewhere. 
No  wonder  that  sort  of  living  has  got  into  the  individual 
homes,  since  the  spirit  of  it  is  in  the  Church !  " 

"  You  are  severe,  but  you  are  true,"  said  Dr.  Farron ; 
"  yet  I  ask,  as  I  asked  before,  —  is  it  any  help  to  the 
restoration  of  the  family  that  any  brother  of  it  should 
say,  There  is  no  home,  and  I  will  none  of  it  ?  My  friend, 
the  moment  the  Church,  or  any  appreciable  portion  of  it, 
absolutely  embodies  and  acts  forth  its  every  word  of  faith, 
there  will  be  no  longer  a  word  of  skepticism  left  against 
it !  The  life  from  God  in  the  world,  instant,  actual,  in 
disputable,  will  kill  utterly  the  denial  or  the  doubt  of 
it!" 

Dr.  Fuller  only  bowed. 

"  You  have  seen  that,  then  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Farron. 

Dr.  Fuller  inclined  his  head  again.  "  I  have  seen," 
he  said,  "  that  the  Lord  will  have  enlisted  soldiers.  The 
guerrilla  may  be  true  and  brave  ;  he  may  fight  well  upon 
the  mountains ;  none  the  less  the  Captain  calls  his  follow 
ers  by  name  into  his  columns,  that  He  may  lead  them  as 
one  man.  I  will  enlist,  Dr.  Farron." 

There  were  not  many  more  words  between  them  then  ; 
the  faces  of  both  shone  as  they  looked  upon  each  other, 
as  they  rose  and  took  each  other  by  the  hand,  and  moved 
toward  the  door. 

On  the  threshold,  Dr.  Farron  recalled  what  had  been 
said  there  by  Peace  Polly  and  himself. 

"  Have  you  spoken  of  this  ?  "  he  asked  Dr.  Fuller. 
21 


322  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  To  no  one ;  it  had  better  not  be  talked  of." 

"  Quite  so,"  returned  the  rector,  "  but  —  I  think,  if 
I  were  you,  I  would  speak  of  it,  at  home,  —  to  Miss 
Schott." 

Dr.  Fuller  glanced  up,  surprised.  "  And  why  to  her  ?  " 
he  asked,  rather  quickly. 

"  To  avoid  any  disturbing  consciousness  of  surprise," 
answered  Dr.  Farron.  "  I  think,  my  dear  friend,  if  you 
take  my  advice,  you  will  see  that  I  have  been  right." 

I  do  not  mean  to  put  down  the  conversation  which  re 
sulted  between  Dr.  Fuller  and  Peace  Polly.  It  was  but 
brief ;  and  it  would  be,  in  some  points,  to  repeat  what 
each  had  said  separately  to  Dr.  Farron.  In  saying  it  to 
each  other,  doubtless,  two  friends,  two  "  real  souls,  with 
the  same  thought  in  them,"  could  not  do  other  than  come 
wonderfully  near.  But  that  nearness  would  belong  to 
themselves,  and  to  no  one  else.  It  would  be  even  more 
sacred  than  any  tale,  or  interview,  of  human  love. 


XXXV. 

A   CABLEGRAM. 

LYMAN  went  to  and  from  the  mill  with  but  brief  home 
intervals.  He  often  stayed  at  evening,  until  bedtime ; 
until  after  that  which  had  been  his  wont,  rather,  for  his 
bedtimes  -now  became  very  much  postponed.  He  some 
times  asked  Peace  Polly  to  put  up  for  him,  or  to  send  down, 
a  midday  lunch.  He  had  frequently  to  drive  over  to 
East  Bend.  There  were  creditors'  meetings,  and  there 
were  interviews  with  the  Company,  for  which  the  Hath- 
ertons  had  been  contracting  and  building,  and  of  which 
they  were  themselves  large  shareholders.  It  was  a  com 
plicated  business,  a  speculation  of  a  new,  fast-growing, 
manufacturing  place,  of  which  the  Company,  with  its  fac 
tories,  was  the  centre,  and  for  whose  increasing  population 
its  streets  and  blocks  were  rapidly  stretching  out  and 
•  going  up.  The  private  residences  of  two  of  the  mill- 
owners  were  the  edifices  for  which  much  of  Lyman's  fine 
work  had  been  done.  A  public  hall  was  also  being  con 
structed.  It  was  a  big  enterprise ;  one  of  those  too  sud 
denly  enlarging  ones  of  which  very  prudent  men  are 
sometimes  shy.  The  Hathertons  had  stopped,  because 
there  was  trouble  behind  them.  Manufactures  were  down, 
just  now ;  there  had  come  a  glut  in  the  market  of  the 
particular  goods  which  East  Bend  furnished. 

But  all  this,  in  the  business  explanation,  cannot  well 
come  into  our  story. 

It  was  enough  that  the  trouble  had  come  round  and 


324  BONNYBOROUGH. 

touched  Lyman  Schott ;  that  its  tide  had  spread  and  shut 
him  in,  where  deep  water  might  come  overhead  with  him. 
He  grew  paler  and  thinner,  from  half-resting  nights  and 
anxious,  overworked  days.  Two  women  watched  him, 
with  sorrowful,  beseeching  eyes.  They  said  to  each  other, 
"  He  ought  not  to  overstrain  himself  so  ;  "  and  they  knew 
in  their  hearts  that  the  overstrain  was  laid  upon  him,  and 
that  he  could  not  help  it  now. 

All  Peace  Polly  could  do  was  to  make  home  brighter, 
daintier  in  homely  comfort ;  to  have  things  in  readiness 
at  his  hours  of  coming  and  going,  and  in  waiting,  at  care 
ful  points  of  preparation,  for  his  uncertainties.  She 
smiled  and  talked  when  he  seemed  to  care  for  it,  and  she 
kept  silence  when  he  kept  silence. 

What  Serena  Wyse  could  do  just  now  was  absolutely 
nothing. 

Dr.  Fuller  came  and  went  on  his  physician's  rounds ; 
Peace  Polly  had  to  calculate  and  prepare  for  him  also. 

After  the  one  talk  they  had  together,  nothing  more  was 
said  between  them  of  their  church  interest,  or  of  religious 
matters  at  all.  But  there  was  an  unspoken  sympathy,  a 
light  of  friendliness,  in  their  greetings  and  good-bys,  and 
in  all  their  commonplace,  accidental  intercourse.  In  truth, 
something  had  become  common  between  them  which  for 
ever  set  aside  the  commonplace.  It  was  that  which  is  in 
the  Creed,  after  the  Holy  Ghost  and  the  Church  ;  which 
is  of  the  Church,  —  or  the  Church  of  it,  in  the  Life  of 
the  Spirit.  Peace  Polly  chanted  the  words  softly  to  her 
self,  sometimes,  as  she  went,  all  alone  up  and  down  the 
house. 

I  said  just  now  that  Serena  Wyse  could  do  nothing. 

Nothing  outwardly,  I  mean :  she  could  think  little 
prayers  for  Lyman  in  her  heart ;  that  he  might  be 
strengthened  with  strength,  kept  quiet  in  confidence,  and 


A    CABLEGRAM.  325 

be  delivered  from  the  power  of  any  adversaries.  She  put 
that  in,  always.  The  Psalms  of  David  were  full  of  peti 
tions  framed  to  her  want  in  these  days.  I  am  afraid  the 
denunciatory  ones  were  not  altogether  out  of  her  mind  at 
times.  She  had  never  felt  easy  about  Rawson  Morgan ; 
and  she  was  sure,  if  he  could,  he  would  do  Lyman  a  mis 
chief  now.  Sometimes,  —  but  no  soul  would  ever  know 
that,  —  she  put  on  a  shawl  and  bonnet  in  the  late  evening, 
and  went  down  across  the  road  and  by  an  upper  meadow 
path  that  came  out  behind  the  village  gardens  to  the  high 
point  of  the  Mill  Lane,  whence  she  could  see  Lyman's 
light  in  the  counting-room  window.  Now  and  then,  of  a 
daytime,  she  would  take  a  good  field-glass  that  had  been 
her  father's,  and  walk  through  Lyman's  own  woods  to  an 
opening  which  gave  her  view  all  up  and  down  the  river 
landing  and  the  wharves.  She  hardly  knew  what  she  ex 
pected,  or  feared,  to  see  ;  she  wanted  to  see  that  all  was 
as  usual,  and  safe.  She  believed  if  there  were  anything 
happening,  ever,  that  it  would  be  good  for  her  to  know,  — 
that  it  would  help  or  save  her  friend  that  she  should 
know,  —  time  and  place  and  presence  would  be  matched 
accordingly ;  she  was  not  afraid  of  the  times  when  she 
could  not  watch;  she  went  as  she  was  moved,  and  her 
heart  kept  guard  continually. 

Except  that  cares  and  fatigues  wrote  their  lines  and  col 
ors  on  Lyman's  face,  as  they  will  do  through  whatever 
calmness  or  cheerfulness,  the  family  at  home  would  not 
have  judged  him  oppressed.  He  wore  no  dejection ;  he 
carried  no  flag  at  half-mast  ;  his  tribulation,  no  more  than 
his  prosperity,  was  a  thing  prominent.  As  he  had  been 
busy  before,  he  was  hard- worked  now ;  he  accepted  each 
as  its  own  necessity ;  he  was  simply  a  strong  man  bearing 
that  which  was  laid  upon  him.  He  ate  his  meals,  and 
seasoned  them  with  neither  sighs  nor  frowns  ;  he  was  eas- 


326  BONNYBOROUGH. 

ier  to  please,  even,  than  he  had  sometimes  been  when  his 
leisure  was  easier.  So  that,  often,  when  talk  arose  among 
them,  and  led  off  in  quite  other  directions,  two  of  them 
half  forgot  for  the  moment  what  lay  behind,  and  Lyman, 
if  he  remembered,  did  not  remind  them. 

"  Your  brother  is  grand,"  said  Dr.  Fuller  to  Peace 
Polly ;  but  if  he  had  needed  to  lend  his  eyes  to  her  be 
fore,  to  see  her  brother  with,  he  did  not  need  to  do  it  now. 
Hers  flashed  up  with  a  glad,  proud  gratefulness  to  him 
for  saying  it ;  with  no  half  surprise  of  pleasure  as  they 
had  done  sometimes. 

Dr.  FuUer  did  not  speak  of  his  own  plans.  He  did 
what  had  fallen  into  his  hands  to  do ;  he  went  where  he 
was  called  ;  how  long  he  meant  to  remain  to  do  this  he 
did  not  say.  He  watched  for  his  mails,  and  received  his 
letters  alertly. 

One  morning  they  all  sat  at  the  breakfast-table  in  the 
pleasant  open  hall.  They  used  it  in  this  way  in  the  sum 
mer  mornings,  often.  Lyman  had  been  down  to  his  mill 
at  daylight,  and  had  returned  to  take  the  meal  with  the 
others,  his  real  breaking  of  fast  having  been  a  bowl  of  milk 
hours  earlier. 

There  were  flowers  on  the  table ;  Rebeccarabby's  deli 
cate  rolls,  —  one  wondered  how  the  dainty  things  she  did 
produce  could  come  from  under  her  dynamic  handling,  — 
a  comb  of  translucent  honey,  a  fragrant,  golden-hearted 
melon,  coffee  steaming  with  Arabian  perfume,  —  these 
did  not  hint  of  distress  or  pressure,  either  in  time  or  sub 
stance.  Peace  Polly  did  not  mean  they  should.  She  had 
not  been  to  Lyman  to  beg  him  to  take  her  separate  por 
tion  and  put  it  into  the  lumber-piles  with  his ;  she  kept 
the  home  as  she  had  kept  it,  as  she  knew  she  could  go  on 
keeping  it,  for  him,  and  troubled  him  with  no  questions 
or  demands.  Things  spoke  their  comfort  for  themselves. 


A    CABLEGRAM.  327 

If  Serena  could  have  done  this,  she  might  not,  either, 
have  gone  to  him  with  her  fifteen  thousand.  So  far  off 
the  very  nearest  may  be  put,  until  their  rightful  place 
opens  to  them,  or  they  accept  it.  I  think  Serena,  for  her 
one  fault,  was  being  chastened  now. 

A  step  scraped  on  the  doorstone.  Lyman  did  not  no 
tice,  and  Dr.  Fuller  sat  with  his  back  that  way  ;  Peace 
Polly  turned  her  head  to  see. 

A  messenger  from  the  village  telegraph-office,  with  the 
yellow,  black-lettered  envelope  in  his  hand. 

"  Dr.  C.  P.  Fuller,"  he  announced  perfunctorily,  like  a 
brakeman  calling  out  a  railway  station,  with  no  interest 
whatever  for  those  whose  destination  it  might  be,  upon 
whatever  errand  of  joy  or  pain.  "  Cable." 

The  last  word  was  uttered  with  some  importance. 

Dr.  Fuller  got  up  quickly,  went  and  took  it,  and  signed 
the  book. 

He  stood  in  the  doorway  and  read  it.  When  he  turned 
round  and  came  back  toward  them  at  the  table,  his  face 
was  radiant. 

"  No  bad  news,  I  imagine,"  said  Lyman,  with  some 
pleasant,  friendly  relief  in  his  tone.  One  does  watch 
rather  breathlessly  the  opening  of  a  telegram  ;  and  this 
had  come  with  the  urgency  of  that  which  must  be  said  in 
stantly  from  over  seas. 

"  No,"  returned  Dr.  Fuller  ;  and  his  tone  ran  lightly. 
"  Mrs.  Fuller  arrives  in  Boston  by  the  Cephalonia,  about 
the  5th.  I  must  go  down  then  for  a  day  or  two.  She 
sends  me  a  message  of  extravagant  length,  in  the  delight 
of  her  new  affluence,  I  suppose.  An  aunt  of  hers  died 
lately,  —  I  saw  the  notice  at  the  time.  Odd  woman  ; 
has  n't  communicated  with  Cecilia,  who  is  her  namesake, 
for  years ;  now  she  has  left  her  a  handsome  property." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  congratulate  you  both,  very  much,"  said 
Lyman. 


328  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Peace  Polly  said  not  a  word.  A  color  rose  upon  her 
face,  as  the  doctor  glanced  toward  her,  with  a  half-inquir 
ing,  curious  look.  Then  he  answered  Lyman. 

"  You  may,"  he  said.  "  It  lifts  one  great  responsi 
bility  from  my  mind.  There  will  be  no  anxiety  about 
money  now,  except  for  the  wise  and  careful  spending  of 
it.  I  hope  that  will  be  guarded,  somehow." 

It  was  a  singular  speech  for  a  man  whose  wife  was  the 
person  concerned. 

Peace  Polly  ate  her  melon  mechanically.  She  put  a 
teaspoonful  of  salt  upon  it,  instead  of  sugar.  But  then 
some  people  do  eat  salt  with  melons.  Perhaps  she  was 
trying  to  take  it  with  the  estimate  of  Dr.  Fuller  which 
his  words  and  manner  might  thrust  upon  her. 

"  I  think,"  resumed  the  gentleman,  very  slowly,  "  that 
it  removes  one  doubt,  —  that  it  may  make  it  possible  that 
I  should  remain  in  Bonnyborough." 

Two  astonished,  mystified  faces  turned  upon  him. 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  quiet  smile. 
He  had  not  meant  any  little  denouement  of  his  own  to 
be  sudden  or  dramatic  ;  but  it  had  come  in  just  this  way, 
and  it  would  be  foolish  to  make  a  concealment  of  it  any 
longer.  He  would  not  presume  to  think  of  any  differ 
ence  it  could  make,  of  any  preparation  needed. 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have  ever  un 
derstood  that  Mrs.  Fuller  is  only — my  sister-in-law?  " 

"  Not  Mrs.  C.  P.  at  all  ?  "  cried  Lyman,  astounded. 

The  color  in  Peace  Polly's  face  rushed  and  mounted. 
Her  eyes  shone ;  but  she  kept  them  steady,  and  bore  her 
blushing  bravely.  What  he  might  think,  for  a  moment, 
she  could  not  tell ;  but  she  could  afford  to  carry  all  the 
truth  in  cheeks  and  eyes.  Her  friend  was  vindicated. 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  "  she  said,  earnestly,  the  shining  eyes 
clear  and  full  on  his. 


A    CABLEGRAM.  329 

Dr.  Fuller  came  close  to  her  end  of  the  table,  and 
touched  the  hand  to  it  that  held  the  telegram,  leaning 
down  a  little  toward  her. 

«  Why,  Miss  Peace  ?  " 

She  was  glad  he  asked  her  why. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  and  notwithstanding  her 
straight,  steady  look  her  voice  thrilled  a  little,  —  "I  have 
wondered  so  much,  —  at  her  ;  and  it  made  you  seem  "  — 

"  How,  Miss  Peace  ?  " 

In  the  midst  of  her  sweet  gladness  and  frankness  a 
sudden  fun  sparkled.  It  came  to  her  relief.  The  mys 
tical  letters  flashed  up  to  her  out  of  the  alphabet. 

"  Such  a  Confusing  Paradox,"  she  said. 

That  was  so  like  Peace  Polly ;  the  old  Peace  Polly, 
who  had  not  had  so  much  to  stop  and  think  for. 

The  doctor  did  not  fail  of  her  meaning.  He  had  been 
used  to  plays  and  suggestions  upon  his  impenetrable  ini 
tials.  He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  like  a  boy. 

Then  he  leaned  forward  again. 

"  I  think  I  grow  less  confusing,  to  myself,  every  day. 
I  will  try,  soon,  to  explain  things  a  little  more  clearly  to 
you." 

Lyman  got  up  to  go.  He  stopped  a  moment  to  say, 
quaintly,  — 

"  You  've  been  a  shrewd  man,  doctor.  Mrs.  Fuller  has 
no  doubt  been  a  great  comfort  to  you,  here  in  Bonny- 
borough  !  " 

"  Bonnyborough  has  jumped  to  its  own  conclusions, 
and  has  made  its  own  mistakes,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  laugh 
ing. 

It  seemed,  somehow,  as  if  his  very  life  laughed  for 
him,  now. 


XXXVI. 

LILIES   AND   BIRDS. 

I  HAD  got  thus  far  in  my  writing  of  the  record  of  these 
things  that  happened  up  in  Bonnyborough,  when  I  read  it 
over  to  a  friend. 

"  Well !  "  was  the  exclamation,  "  I  'm  glad  Mrs.  Dora 
did  n't  have  a  finger  in  it  this  time !  " 

Now  I  will  just  pause  exactly  here,  to  say  a  word  in 
justice  to  Mrs.  Dora.  She  did  n't  want  to  have  a  finger 
in  it.  She  was  quietly  and  faithfully  waiting  to  see  the 
finger  of  Providence  in  it,  as  she  felt  assured  it  would  be, 
having  received,  as  she  honestly  confessed  to  herself,  a 
pretty  clear  intimation  that  it  had  no  need  or  work  just 
now  for  her  own.  For  myself,  I  like  Mrs.  Dora,  with  all 
her  faults,  and  I  know  she  was  a  good  woman,  who  meant 
exceedingly  well.  Her  temptation  was  that  her  wits  were 
bright,  her  heart  was  warm,  and  that  little  finger  of  hers 
of  a  peculiar  cleverness.  And  cleverness  cannot  help 
itching,  whether  in  brain  or  digits. 

What  Mrs.  Dora  saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  to  do,  she 
did  it  with  her  might.  When  she  saw  that  she  had  bet 
ter  do  nothing,  she  did  that  with  her  might  also.  Which 
I  think  was  the  extreme  point,  after  all,  both  of  her  clev 
erness  and  strength  of  mind. 

Dr.  Fuller  went  to  the  rectory  with  his  news.  Dr.  Far- 
ron  was  from  home,  so  he  saw  Mrs.  Dora  again  in  the 
delicious  cosiness  of  the  vine-curtained  balcony,  and  gave 
it  to  her. 


LILIES  AND  BIRDS.  331 

Mrs.  Dora  clapped  her  hands,  first  with  gladness  at 
that  which  had  befallen,  and  again  with  ecstatic  sense  of 
the  flank  move  upon  Bonnyborough  gossip. 

"It  is  exquisite!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  don't  say  a 
word,  now,  if  you  can  help  it,  until  there  really  is  a  Mrs. 
Fuller,  a  Mrs.  C.  P.,  I  mean,"  she  added,  linking  the  let 
ters  again,  softly,  with  her  old  mischief. 

"There  will  have  to  be  some  very  important  words 
spoken  before  that,"  suggested  Dr.  Fuller,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  by  the  important  persons.  But  think  of  the 
loveliness  of  the  course  of  a  human  event  of  which  no 
unimportant  or  impertinent  words  are  spoken  !  " 

"  I  do  feel  delightfully  relieved,"  she  said  to  her  hus 
band  when  she  reported  to  him  the  conversation.  "  So  out 
of  responsibility  in  the  business !  It  will  be  such  enjoy 
ment  just  to  be  holding  my  tongue  and  looking  on  !  And 
the  other  matter  is  taking  care  of  itself  beautifully,  too ;  I 
can  see  that.  Better,  indeed,  than  if  I  had  n't  meddled. 
I  think,  Sebastian,  the  Lord  did  make  a  little  use  of  me, 
after  all.  Rose  Howick  has  been  growing  twice  the 
woman  in  these  last  weeks  that  she  ever  bid  fair  to  be 
before." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  altogether  clear  of  responsibil 
ity  yet,  however,"  remarked  Sebastian,  quietly.  "  I  think 
you  have  mentioned  one  duty  that  will  give  you  quite 
enough  to  do." 

"  Sebastian  !    I  never  will  say  anything  to  you  again !  " 

The  next  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Dr.  Fuller  found 
Peace  Polly  sitting  in  her  often-wonted  place  at  the  fore 
door.  He  drew  a  chair,  and  sat  down  near  her. 

"  I  have  not  much  of  a  story  to  tell,  Miss  Peace,"  he 
said.  "  But  what  there  is  I  think  you  have  a  right  to 
hear." 

Peace  Polly  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  work  to  his  face 


332  BONNYBOROUGH. 

with  a  look  of  listening  and  thanks.  Then  she  turned 
again  without  a  word  to  her  twisting  of  yarn  stitches,  and 
he  went  on. 

"I  had  a  dear  brother,  —  little  Tom,"  he  said,  ten 
derly.  "  He  was  not  much  more  than  three  years  younger 
than  I,  but  he  was  always  little  Tom  to  me,  —  even  when 
he  went  astray.  For  the  world  was  too  much,  in  some 
things,  for  my  little  brother,  Peace." 

He  did  not*  notice  what  he  had  done  until  an  instant 
later ;  but  Peace  Polly's  face  took  the  color  of  a  rose  set 
suddenly  in  a  sunny  light. 

"  He  married  hastily,  as  he  did  everything.  His  mar 
riage  did  not  help  him  as  it  should  have  done ;  Cecilia  is 
not  a  bad  woman,  but  she  was  hardly  woman  enough  for 
that  which  she  undertook.  It  was  eager  young  fancy,  on 
both  sides.  Her  friends  were  bitterly  opposed,  and  we 
could  hardly  blame  them ;  the  less,  that  we  were  not  de 
sirous  of  the  match  for  Tom,  either.  By  and  by  Cecilia 
got  discouraged  ;  then  came  unhappiness  ;  she  reproached 
him  with  all  that  she  had  given  up.  He  said  he  would 
do  all  he  could  for  her  ;  he  would  take  himself  away. 
So  he  did."  Dr.  Fuller  paused  here  for  a  few  seconds  ; 
Peace  Polly  breathed  softly,  and  her  needle  was  held 
still. 

"  He  went  away,  to  Japan  ;  we  never  saw  him  again. 
He  sent  home  a  little  money,  and  after  he  died — it  was  a 
sudden  death  —  there  came  a  letter  he  had  left,  written  to 
me.  He  asked  me  to  take  care  of  his  boys.  I  have  done 
the  best  I  could.  I  could  not  always  make  other  plans 
and  do  this  too ;  I  have  put  this  first.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  for  little  Tom." 

Peace  Polly  felt  slow  tears  escaping  from  her  eyes. 
She  turned  a  little  aside,  and  brushed  them  off. 

"  After  all,  it  was  their  mother's  right  to  decide  much  ; 


LILIES  AND  BIRDS.  333 

I  could  not  always  use  my  own  full  judgment.  So,  among 
other  things,  they  have  gone  to  Europe.  I  would  rather 
have  made  Americans  of  them,  but  they  may  yet  be  that. 
I  shall  always  help  when  I  can.  Their  mother  is  rich, 
now  ;  she  will  take  her  own  way,  and  I  think  she  will  be 
glad  to  be  independent  of  me.  So,  Miss  Peace,  I  think 
I  shall  stay  in  Bonnyborough  now,  and  try  to  make  a 
home  here,  where  my  boys  may  sometimes  come.  If  they 
do,  will  you,  who  are  my  friend,  lend  them  some  of  your 
pleasant  influence  ?  " 

Peace  Polly's  eyes  were  full,  and  her  face  was  like  that 
sunlit  rose.  But  she  looked  up  straight  to  Dr.  Fuller, 
and  put  up  her  hand  to  his. 

"  If  I  might,"  she  said.  "  If  there  was  anything  pos 
sible  to  me.  I  can  never  repay  you  in  any  way  what  you 
have  done  for  me,  Dr.  Fuller !  You  have  been  strength 
and  comfort  to  me." 

"  Have  I  ?  have  I  that  ?  "  he  said,  eagerly.  "  I  would 
be  so  glad  to  be !  "  Then  that  curious  smile  of  his  played 
over  his  face,  and  he  added,  quietly,  "  I  think,  perhaps, 
I  have  understood  you,  as  you  should  be  understood." 

"  It  is  so  good  to  have  anybody  know !  "  said  Peace 
Polly,  softly,  sedately* 

Do  you  suppose  Dr.  Fuller  is  going  to  say  more  to  this 
girl,  now  ?  Indeed,  he  knew  a  great  deal  better.  It  was 
not  many  days  since  she  had  believed  that  other  woman 
to  be  his  wife.  What  could  have  grown  in  her  toward 
him  in  these  few  days  ?  He  had  had  all  summer,  if  it 
had  needed  that,  to  grow  to  know  her,  and  to  love  her, 
as  he  owned  to  himself  that  he  loved  her  now.  He  had 
too  much  reverence  in  his  love,  too  much  delicate  noble 
ness  in  his  nature,  to  ask  Peace  Polly  yet  if  she  had 
learned  to  care  for  him.  But  the  gentle  light  and  color 
in  her  face,  the  glad,  low  way  in  which  she  answered  to 


334  BONNYBOROUG1L 

his  friendliness,  were  very  sweet  and  hopeful  to  him.  He 
replied  to  her  words  with  something  quite  apart  from 
self. 

"  It  is  good  to  know  that  anybody  knows,"  he  said. 
"And  we  are  sure  that  there  is  nothing  really  hidden, 
but  that  the  great,  perfect  understanding  is  all  about  us 
and  through  us.  There  is  a  world  in  us,  Miss  Peace,  that 
God  keeps  to  himself,  except  when  he  calls  some  few 
souls,  with  special  errand  for  us,  to  receive  a  glimpse.  It 
is  full  of  life,  and  growths,  and  wonders,  that  are  to  be 
developed  and  revealed.  We  ourselves  know  not  what 
we  shall  be ;  but  He  knows  that  we  shall  be  like  Him  !  " 

"  I  see  ;  oh,  how  beautiful  it  is,  Dr.  Fuller  !  It  is  the 
world  of  the  spiritual  microscope  !  " 

"  It  is  always  what  the  microscope  reminds  me  of,"  he 
answered. 

A  few  moments  after  that,  he  went  away.  "  Do  not 
wait  tea  for  me,"  he  told  her.  "  I  must  take  a  ride  of 
three  or  four  miles  first." 

He  left  her,  and  went  up  through  the  house  to  the  gar 
den  side  and  the  stables.  He  kept  a  horse  here  now,  at 
The  Knolls.  Peace  Polly  saw  him  presently,  on  the 
handsome  black  creature,  moving  quietly  down  the  shaded 
drive,  and  then  cantering  swiftly  up  the  high  road  under 
the  maple-trees.  She  put  by  her  work,  and  walked  down 
the  grass-path  to  the  low  gate. 

Away  out  westward,  from  between  tall  elms,  she  could 
see  the  sun  going  down  in  the  great,  clear  sky.  Lyman 
had  said  he  should  be  late,  and  she  had  already  told  Re- 
beccarabby  that  they  would  not  have  tea  before  seven. 

It  was  the  loveliest  hour  in  all  the  day.  It  seemed, 
somehow,  the  loveliest  hour  to  Peace  Polly  that  she  had 
had  in  all  her  life. 

There  was  no  cloud  anywhere.     The  sunset  light  rose 


LILIES  AND  BIRDS.  335 

and  rose  from  the  horizon  in  an  amber  tide.  It  lifted  to 
ward  the  zenith,  where  it  met  the  blue  and  turned  it  to  a 
pale,  clear,  wonderful  chrysoprase.  Then  the  depths  east 
ward  took  a  purple  shadow,  an  intense,  restful  calm  of 
coming  dusk. 

But  Peace  Polly  did  not  look  back  into  the  shadows, 
however  softened.  They  were  of  the  day  that  had  been. 
She  stood  and  gazed  after  the  sun,  where  it  had  flooded 
over  into  a  marvelous  to-morrow,  of  which  the  beauty 
was  swept  backward,  making  the  afterlight  of  to-day. 

"  It  is  so  still,  so  wide,"  she  said.  "  There  is  such  a 
firmament-full  of  gladness  !  " 

While  she  spoke  within  herself,  up  out  of  the  very 
glory  burst  a  living  cloud.  A  motion,  a  joy,  swept  sky 
ward,  higher  and  higher,  from  the  very  horizon  line.  As 
it  neared,  it  resolved  into  myriad  separate  forms  ;  it  was 
a  swallow-flight,  that  strange,  multitudinous  one  that  hap 
pens  in  the  late  summer.  Surging  up  and  up,  there 
seemed  no  end  to  its  coming,  thousands  and  thousands 
pouring  from  the  translucent  depths,  as  if  suddenly  born 
there,  mounting  and  separating  and  gathering  again,  in 
crowds,  in  columns,  in  streams  of  glad  activity,  of  most 
exquisite,  graceful  motion.  The  whole  expanse  was  over- 
traced  in  swift,  intricate  curves  and  lines  of  beauty. 

And  life,  exulting  life,  was  in  it  all. 

Peace  Polly  hardly  knew,  at  first,  what  it  told  her.  She 
watched  it,  breathless,  for  a  while ;  then  she  turned  and 
went  up,  slowly,  between  the  rows  of  lilies  by  the  walk. 
Scarlet  and  pure  white,  they  flamed  and  gleamed  beside 
her.  The  breath  of  the  sweet  day-lilies  had  hung  there 
all  day,  and  was  exhaling  still,  as  the  long-fair  cups  were 
closing.  She  took  in  at  every  sense  some  wondrous,  gra 
cious  word. 

She  went  in  through  the  hall,  where  the  waiting  table 


336  BONNYBOROUGH. 

stood,  set  now  for  tea.  She  heard  Rebeccarabby  clattering 
with  waffle-irons  in  the  kitchen.  She  went  up-stairs  to 
her  own  room,  that  she  might  be  alone  and  quiet  till  the 
others  came.  As  she  sat  in  the  bay-window,  half  watch 
ing,  half  musing,  the  sun-colors,  the  bird-flight,  the  lilies, 
wove  themselves  together  in  clear,  beautiful  thought ;  they 
wrote  out  their  message  within  her.  She  learned  it  by 
heart,  and  later,  almost  in  the  words  that  had  first  come 
(but  not  quite,  for  things  rushed  in  presently  that  blotted 
them  into  temporary  f orgetfulness) ,  she  wrote  it  down,  as 
she  had  written  that  dream  of  hers  that  had  come  to  her 
—  oh,  so  many  weeks  —  if  it  could  be  only  weeks  —  be 
fore  !  Long  after,  she  showed  them  both  to  one  person  only. 
And  this  was  how  she  wrote  it :  — 


FULFILLED. 

"  He  was  known  of  them  in  the  breaking  of  bread." 

Good  things  had  befallen  me  all  through  the  day  : 

A  blessing  of  morsels,  —  small  helps  by  the  way  ; 

Work  running  on  even,  and  coming  out  right  ; 

Bright  thoughts  with  the  morning,  good  words  at  the  night. 

So  evening  was  sweet,  and  as  shadows  fell  deep, 
My  spirit  was  turned  to  the  Lord  of  the  sheep. 

"  Thou  leadest  !  thou  feedest  !  "    in  silence  I  said  ; 

"  And  the  crumbs  from  thy  hand  are  the  best  of  the  bread. 

"  We  know  how  Thou  blessest  and  breakest  it  then  ; 
Not  giving  thy  life  to  the  children  of  men 
As  whole  in  the  loaf,  and  thou  done  with  us  so, 
But  meed  to  our  need,  every  step  that  we  go. 

"  O  dear  daily  bread,  and  the  thought  for  no  more  f 
The  not  knowing  whence,  that  is  infinite  store  ! 
The  grand  peradventure  it  is  to  be  poor, 
Through  sureness  of  waiting  on  Him  who  is  sure  ! 


LILIES  AND  BIRDS. 

"  O  lilies  and  birds  !  "     In  a  redolence  sweet 
One  word  of  the  parable  breathed  at  my  feet  ; 
And  a  sign  in  the  depths  of  the  amber-lit  west, 
Alive  with  winged  creatures,  was  saying  the  rest. 

They  rushed  up  in  clouds,  like  a  tempest  of  life  ; 
All  heaven  was  full  of  the  beautiful  strife  ; 
From  the  gold  to  the  blue  in  a  rapturous  chase, 
They  crowded,  and  crowded,  and  yet  there  was  space. 

They  gathered  and  parted,  they  shot  and  they  swept, 
Ever  east,  where  the  first  early  duskiness  crept  ; 
From  heart  of  the  glory  to  edge  of  the  shade, 
All  the  way,  as  they  moved,  a  sweet  scripture  they  made. 

For,  swirling  and  darting,  each  line  of  their  flight 
Scored  a  letter  of  promise  across  the  clear  light  ; 
"  In  a  seeming  of  emptiness,  teeming  with  good, 
God's  forecastless  swallows  are  finding  their  food  ! " 
22 


337 


XXXVII. 

THE  WIND  UP  RIVER. 

DR.  FULLER  came  back  about  eight  o'clock.  Lyman 
had  not  yet  returned.  Peace  Polly  poured  out  tea,  and 
helped  the  waffles  and  the  thin  pink  slices  of  cold  ham. 
Dr.  Fuller  ate  ;  Peace  Polly  made  believe,  and  managed 
a  slight  repast ;  for  even  in  making  believe  she  did  things 
with  a  kind  of  inevitable  honesty.  She  hardly  knew, 
however,  what  she  took  ;  for  she  was  growing  anxious 
about  her  brother.  He  had  looked  so  tired,  when  he  went 
away  after  his  early  dinner,  and  she  had  so  hoped  that 
asking  for  a  late  tea  hour  had  meant  that  he  would  be 
punctual  then,  and  not  do  any  afterwork  at  night. 

Serena  came  over,  in  her  quiet  fashion,  while  they  were 
at  table.  She  just  glanced  at  the  two,  saw  that  they  were 
but  two,  and  stopped  upon  the  threshold.  She  had  got 
what  she  had  come  for,  and  it  did  not  answer  to  her  wish. 
"  How  late  you  are  !  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  Peace  Polly  answered.  "  They  both  kept  me 
waiting,  and  Lyman  has  not  come  in  yet.  Sit  down." 
She  spoke  as  if  it  were  quite  natural  and  insignificant ; 
she  looked  eagerly  at  Serena,  though,  to  see  how  it  might 
seem  to  her. 

"  Oh,  no/'  Serena  said,  treating  it  as  carelessly.  "  I 
won't  stay  to  hinder  you.  When  Lyman  comes,  he  '11 
want  to  be  quiet.  I  wish  he  would  n't  do  so,  Polly.  But 
I  know  you  can't  ever  interfere  with  a  man." 

And  with  that   old-fashioned,   submissive  feminine   al- 


THE    WIND    UP  RIVER.  339 

lowance  and  a  disappointed  breath,  she  slipped  away 
again. 

Neither  of  these  women  would  let  the  other  see,  when 
it  came  to  the  point,  that  she  thought  there  could  be  any 
excuse  for  special  uneasiness  ;  each  was  secretly  afraid  of 
the  other's  corroboration. 

Serena  had  been  over  in  the  pasture  woods  that  after 
noon  ;  she  had  been  restless  all  day  ;  and  she  had  taken 
the  field-glass  with  her.  She  had  walked  down  on  the  far 
southerly  slope,  where  the  cedars  grew,  from  whose  still 
openings  there  were  such  wide,  pretty  outlooks  upon 
meadow  and  river  and  the  great,  uprising  hill  that  slanted 
away  opposite,  a  clear  mile's  walk  over  the  long  crown. 

She  had  sat  in  a  shady  rock-nook  and  opened  out  her 
glass,  that  brought  all  that  soft  swell  of  brown  and  green 
so  clear  to  sight,  making  even  the  little  juniper  bushes  and 
the  clumps  of  moss  and  the  bracken-patches  plain  to  her. 
She  loved  dearly  to  take  her  glass  for  company,  though  it 
were  only  for  the  delight  of  it ;  choosing  some  sheltered 
resting-place  and  drawing  all  things  around  her,  even 
the  birds  and  squirrels,  that  did  not  dream  how  near  her 
human  eyes  were,  and  that  they  bent  so  close  toward  them 
at  their  safe,  shy  distances,  and  looked  into  their  very 
own,  and  traced  the  blends  and  contrasts  of  their  colors  in 
glossy  stripe  and  fluffy  wave,  and  on  shining  breast  and 
wing-tip. 

She  had  seen  something  else  to-night,  just  before  she 
turned  to  come  homeward  as  the  shadows  fell :  something 
that  had  as  little  thought  of  her  overlooking ;  as  little, 
indeed,  as  it  had  —  for  I  will  speak  of  it  as  a  thing  or  a 
creature  only,  though  I  shame  the  birds  and  squirrels 
with  such  classing  —  of  the  compassing  of  the  cloud  of 
witnesses  above,  and  of  God's  watching  over  all. 

She  was  almost  sure  she  had  seen  Rawson  Morgan  walk- 


340  BONNYBOROUGH. 

ing  stealthily  along  the  river-bank  on  the  other  side,  from 
one  covert  of  overhanging  trees  and  shrubs  to  another. 
There  was  no  path  or  road  that  could  have  brought  him 
down  to  that  point,  if  he  came  from  overside  the  hill.  It 
was  out  of  any  natural  track  of  communication,  and  he 
seemed  as  if  loitering,  waiting,  rather  than  moving  on  with 
any  present  purpose.  It  was  very  strange,  if  it  were  he  ; 
but,  indeed,  how  should  it  be  ? 

Rawson  Morgan  had  gone  away,  they  said,  from  town. 

Was  her  fancy  so  distempered  by  her  watchings  and 
apprehensions  that  she  should  make  out  some  stranger  — 
some  harmless  foot-traveler  —  to  be  this  man  of  whom  she 
was  afraid  ?  And,  "  too,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  side 
ways  turn  and  drop  of  the  head  to  the  right,  that  lift  of 
the  left  shoulder,  with  the  left-handed  push  into  the  pocket, 
—  certainly  they  were  most  like  Morgan !  " 

She  wished  she  could  have  seen  his  face ;  but  it  was 
turned  aside  from  her,  and  even  with  the  glass  she  could 
hardly  have  made  certain  about  that.  He  was  too  far  off 
upon  the  left.  If  he  had  come  up  the  river  round  the  hill- 
foot,  she  wondered  she  had  not  noticed  him  before.  He 
must  have  come  from  behind  the  thick  woods  that  spread 
off  westward,  Oickford  way. 

Whoever  it  was,  after  passing  across  the  open  space  in 
which  she  had  caught  sight  of  him,  he  had  disappeared  be 
hind  the  alder  thicket,  and  had  not  emerged  again  in  the 
next  break  beyond. 

Serena  had  gone  home  disquieted  ;  had  flitted  over,  af 
ter  her  own  solitary  tea,  in  this  anxious  way,  to  Lyman's. 
She  did  not  know  whether  she  ought  to  say  anything  of 
what  she  imagined  she  had  seen,  or  not.  She  did  not  wish 
to  make  a  worry  out  of  nothing ;  she  did  not  care  to  let 
her  own  worry  be  so  plainly  seen. 

She  went  home  again,  sat  half  an  hour  by  herself  in  the 


THE    WIND   UP  RIVER.  341 

broad  back  porch  that  looked  down  an  orchard  to  the  turn 
of  the  white  road  just  visible  in  the  gloaming ;  then  she 
took  a  shawl  and  garden  hat  from  their  peg  in  the  passage, 
and  sped  softly,  almost  stealthily,  through  the  tree-shadows 
and  over  the  low  wall-steps,  into  and  across  the  bit  of  road, 
and  so  on  by  the  meadow-path,  as  she  had  done  so  many 
times  before.  She  did  not  know  why ;  she  never  knew 
why ;  she  was  restless.  She  should  feel  better  about  it  if 
she  just  saw  Lyman's  light  burning  steadily  in  the  mill- 
window,  and  everything  quiet  around  outside ;  or,  if  the 
light  was  out,  she  would  know  that  she  had  missed  him, 
and  that  he  had  gone  home  by  his  own  short  cut  the  other 
way.  Only  a  few  minutes'  walk,  and  all  so  quiet ! 

It  was  so  still  she  could  hear  away  across  the  fields  the 
soft  rush  of  the  water,  and  the  whir  and  boom  of  night- 
birds  that  now  and  then  flapped  up  out  of  the  hedgy  hol 
lows. 

The  crickets  sang,  the  stars  shone,  the  air  was  sweet 
and  tender.  How  should  there  be  any  harm  about  in  such 
a  peace  ?  Or  how  could  such  peace  be  broken,  and  any 
wakeful  ear  not  know  ? 

The  kind  night,  now  she  was  out  in  it,  pacified  her 
nerves.  Yes,  she  had  been  nervous.  Why  should  not 
some  stranger  have  walked  up  from  Crickford  way  ?  All 
up  the  river  there  was  work,  —  in  mills,  on  farms.  There 
were  so  many  people  seeking  for  it.  And  Rawson  Mor 
gan  had  gone  up  north,  to  Hopper's  Falls. 

Now  the  country  was  not  impassable,  nor  of  so  vast  a 
stretch,  or  without  rail  and  roadways,  between  Hopper's 
Falls  and  Crickford,  although,  through  simplicity  or  secret 
shrinking,  Serena  did  not  consider  that. 

She  would  just  go  to  the  head  of  the  lane  and  look. 
Perhaps  she  would  wait  awhile.  Surely  Lyman  would 
soon  leave  his  counting-room,  and  go  home  by  the  short 


342  BONNYBOROUGH. 

cut.  When  the  light  was  out  she  would  go  home  herself, 
in  hearing  of  that  other  field-track  all  the  way. 

By  and  by,  she  would  be  so  glad  to  see  the  candle-signal 
in  the  east-corner  bedroom,  that  would  tell  her  he  was  go 
ing  to  rest,  and  that  all  was  well  for  this  time.  That  was 
how  it  would  be,  of  course.  It  always  was.  Only,  she 
was  so  foolish. 

She  never  went  to  rest  herself,  now,  till  she  had  seen 
that  sign. 

How  she  had  to  steal  about  to  do  that  which  she  might 
have  done  as  open  love  and  duty !  How  the  nearest  wo 
man  in  the  world  to  him  —  for  she  knew  in  her  heart  she 
was  that,  in  spite  of  all  —  had  to  hide  and  forego  her 
claim,  and  long  to  say  words  to  the  sister,  out  of  her  shar 
ing,  nay,  her  transcending  anxieties,  which,  as  things  were, 
as  she  had  let  them  be,  it  would  not  be  seemly  or  a  thing 
called  for  that  she  should  say  or  feel ! 

There  is  no  false  position  so  utterly  false  as  that  of  a 
supreme  affection  out  of  its  rightful  place. 

Serena  had  one  night  walked  in  the  lonely,  quiet  lane 
till  ten  o'clock.  If  any  one  had  met  her  at  any  turn,  either 
up  or  down,  she  would  then  have  passed  by  and  gone 
home  by  the  direct  or  indirect  way ;  but  no  one  came,  and 
so,  up  and  down,  keeping  between  the  gardens,  where  it 
would  not  be  quite  unaccountable  that  she  might  be,  accord 
ing  to  the  safe,  easy  visiting  fashion  of  Bonnyborough  wo 
men,  she  went,  longer  than  she  had  thought,  until  the  great 
church  bell  pealed  out  upon  the  stillness  its  ten  strokes. 
Lyman's  light  still  burned.  Serena  could  hardly  refrain 
from  going  to  Peace  Polly  to  say  it  must  not  be.  Could 
they  not  go  down  together,  and  beg  him  to  come  home  ? 

But  Serena  was  a  poor  pretender.  She  knew  she  could 
put  no  face  upon  it  other  than  that  she  had  been  purposely 
watching.  It  had  been  no  accident  that  she  had  seen  the 
lamp-light  away  down  there  in  the  great,  lonely  mill. 


THE   WIND   UP  RIVER.  343 

Peace  Polly  knew  a  great  deal  of  her  story,  true ;  but 
all  that  was  in  the  past.  Serena  could  not  show  her  her 
very  heart  so  now.  She  had  to  go  home  and  bear  her 
worry  and  her  exclusion. 

Peace  Polly  would  have  been  glad  to  see  her  that  other 
night.  She  was  waiting  up  till  Lyman  came,  which  he 
did  at  nearly  eleven.  But  that  evening  he  had  had  a 
good  supper  at  six,  and  when  he  had  got  back  hungry 
there  were  sweet  apples  and  milk  and  fresh-baked  country 
brown-bread  for  him ;  and  he  had  gone  to  bed  at  least 
refreshed. 

But  to-night  he  had  missed  his  tea,  and  yet  he  had 
stayed  on  and  on. 

At  half  past  nine,  Peace  Polly  said  to  Rebeccarabby, 
"  I  shall  take  something  to  Lyman  to  eat.  Get  me  some 
bread  and  butter,  and  thin  ham,  and  a  bottle  of  milk,  — 
cream-milk,  Rabby." 

And  so,  making  a  little  basket  ready,  she  took  a  wrap 
and  tied  a  scarf  about  her  head,  and  was  going  forth  with 
out  even  Rabby  for  an  escort.  She  had  put  the  good 
woman's  offer  back.  "  I  should  leave  you  in  the  lane," 
she  said ;  "  and.  it  is  nothing  to  the  lane,  —  or  after, 
either." 

She  thought  that  Dr.  Fuller  had  gone  out,  but  before 
she  reached  the  garden-corner  of  the  road  he  came  beside 
her.  He  'asked  no  leave,  but  quietly  took  possession  of  her 
basket,  merely  saying,  "  Which  way,  Miss  Peace  ?  By  the 
street,  or  by  the  meadow  ?  " 

And  Peace,  something  to  her  own  astonishment,  took 
him  as  quietly  for  granted. 

"  This  way,  I  think,"  she  said ;  and  crossed  the  road  to 
the  little  gap  in  the  fence  which  let  them,  with  a  slight 
twist  as  through  a  stileway,  into  the  oblique  footpath  to  the 
lane. 


344  BONNYBOROUGH.      ' 

They  walked  on  silently.  Peace  Polly  was  intent  upon 
her  errand,  and  Dr.  Fuller  had  not  put  his  company  upon 
her  save  to  help  her  through  with  that. 

They  were  moving  at  a  sharp  angle  to  the  river.  The 
wharves  were  below  the  shoulder  of  the  sloping  ground, 
and  the  hill  beyond  the  stream  was  away  at  their  right ; 
they  almost  turned  from  it  as  they  went.  When  they 
came  out  into  the  lane,  and  upon  the  bend,  they  faced  it. 

What  was  it  that  they  suddenly  saw,  and  cried  out  at 
with  one  breath  ? 

A  glittering,  creeping  line  along  the  pasture-side,  half 
way  up. 

It  flashed,  it  ran ;  it  sent  little  shining  serpents  writhing 
here  and  there ;  it  was  coming  down,  and  toward  them,  in 
a  line  with,  just  beyond,  the  overside  landing.  And  the 
wind  was  up  the  river,  warm  and  strong,  toward  the  mill. 
Lyman's  light  burned  steadily  in  the  window  at  this  fur 
ther  corner  nearest  them. 

"  Go  call  your  brother,  Peace !  I  will  rouse  up  the 
men." 

There  were  two  or  three  cottages  a  little  off  the  lane,  on 
the  downward  slope ;  they  were  occupied  by  some  of  the 
saw-men  and  their  families.  Dr.  Fuller  sprang  over  the 
wall,  and  made  a  straight  run  for  these.  Peace  Polly  hur 
ried  on  by  the  path,  which  was  the  shortest  way  to  Ly 
man's  private  door. 

But  somebody  was  there  before  her. 

Somebody  else  had  seen  that  dazzling,  threatening  edge 
of  fire.  It  had  not  been  in  vain,  at  last,  that  Serena  Wyse 
had  followed  her  restless  impulse,  and  come  forth  to  her 
reconnoissance. 

Already,  when  the  other  two  had  come  where  she  had 
just  been  standing,  she  was  down  across  the  team-way  that 
lay,  a  faint,  dull  line  of  dust,  parallel  with  the  water,  with 


THE   WIND   UP  RIVER.  345 

the  mill  between.  Another  track  followed  the  opposite 
shore.  They  ended,  one  at  either  end  of  the  bridge,  a  half 
mile  higher,  where  the  town-road  crossed. 

Serena  sprang  to  the  closed  door.  It  was  closed,  in 
deed,  and  bolted. 

The  light  above  shone  down  clear  upon  the  wagon-track, 
and  shot  across  to  lose  itself  against  the  dark  herbage  of 
the  bank. 

Serena  shook  the  door.  She  struck  it  with  all  the  might 
of  her  clenched  fists.  Why  did  not  Lyman  hear  ? 

A  terrible  dread  seized  her.  Could  he  be  ill,  worn 
out,  unconscious  ;  or  even  fast  asleep  over  his  long  work  ? 
And  that  line  of  fire  was  creeping  down ! 

The  rush  of  the  half-head  of  water,  deep  down  beneath 
the  mill,  and  past  the  huge,  still  wheel,  made  a  dull,  con 
tinuous  sound.  From  the  far-off  dam  came  also  the  noise 
of  the  lessened  run,  falling,  falling,  upon  the  stones  below. 

Lyman  could  not  hear  her.  The  intermediate  doors 
were  shut. 

All  at  once  she  remembered.  She  flew  to  the  angle  of 
the  building,  where  the  great  noon-bell  hung  from  a  pro 
jecting  timber  like  a  hoisting-beam.  She  clutched,  with  a 
spring,  at  the  long  loop  of  rope  that  dropped  from  a  large 
staple  in  the  wall  through  which  its  end  was  passed.  She 
pulled  it  down,  and  rang  —  rang  —  rang. 

Lyman's  window  was  flung  up ;  he  leaned  forth,  and 
saw  the  outline  of  a  woman's  figure  with  reached-up  arms, 
swinging  at  the  rope.  Between  the  peals,  he  shouted,  — 

"  Who  's  there  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  And  a  pale  face  showed 
palely  in  the  streaming  light,  and  some  one  called  out, 
breathlessly,  — 

"  Fire  !  on  the  overside  pasture,  Lyman ;  coming  down 
toward  the  wharf ;  and  the  wind  is  up  !  " 

For  all  the  darkness  and  the  strain,  he  knew  Serena's 
voice. 


346  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  Ring  on  !  "  he  shouted,  for  all  answer ;  and  the  next 
instant  was  plunging  down  the  stairs.  As  he  dashed  out 
of  the  side  doorway,  with  two  fagot  brooms  and  a  hatchet 
that  he  had  snatched  up,  Peace  Polly  came  down  with  a 
swoop  like  a  bird,  from  the  bank  upon  the  team-way. 

Nobody  stopped  to  be  surprised.  Serena  rang  on,  until 
Dr.  Fuller  and  the  men  appeared,  armed  in  like  manner 
as  Lyman,  with  whatever  they  could  lay  hands  on  that 
would  whip  fire,  —  big  brushes,  brooms,  bushes  broken 
from  the  hedges ;  knives  and  hatchets  also  ;  one  man  had 
a  reaping-hook.  These  Bonnyborough  people  knew  what 
a  grass-fire  was. 

Some  small  boys  came,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
ring  the  bell.  Serena  gave  it  up  to  them,  and  followed 
the  others  ;  down  between  the  blocks  of  plank,  and  board, 
and  shingle,  to  the  water's  edge,  to  the. little  bridge  across 
the  narrow  river-strait. 

One  by  one  the  men  leaped  over ;  then  they  crowded  up 
the  wharf,  and  upon  the  hillside.  There  they  scattered, 
and  rushed,  at  varying  points,  upon  the  advancing  flame. 

Peace  Polly  and  Serena  sat  down  on  some  low  boards 
nearest. 

"  How  came  you  here,  Peace  Polly  ?  "  gasped  Serena. 

"And  how  came  you?"  Peace  Polly  gasped  the  ex 
clamation  back. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  was  in  the  lane  ;  I  've  been  afraid," 
the  woman  answered  the  girl,  meekly. 

"  Of  this  ?  " 

"  Of  Morgan  ;  I  did  n't  know  how.  And  I  Ve  been 
worried  for  Lyman."  She  was  getting  her  breath  now, 
and  she  said  the  words  without  demur,  in  a  sudden  as 
sertion,  as  if  she  meant,  "  Wh*y  should  I  not  ?  " 

She  hastened  into  another  question,  though,  as  if  she 
feared  Peace  Polly  would  have  answered  that. 


THE    WIND   UP  RIVER.  347 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  get  it  under  ?  Ah,  see  that 
sparkle,  rushing  right  this  way  !  There  's  a  flash  right  in 
the  edge,  Peace  Polly !  " 

"  Serena  !  your  skirts !  take  care  !  " 

Serena  doubled  her  skirts  around  her ;  folded  and 
pinned  her  woolen  shawl  across  them,  hastily  ;  ran  up 
the  green  of  the  bank  from  the  trodden  space  about  the 
lumber ;  tore  up  the  tall,  tough  sweet-fern  bushes ;  and 
hurried  back  to  where  the  tiny  quiver  of  fire  had  from 
some  wind-swept  spark  burst  out  in  this  close-threatening 
place. 

It  was  but  an  instant's  work  to  quench  it;  as  she 
stepped  back  over  the  bare  ground  toward  the  boards 
again,  another  spark,  close  to  the  pile,  shone  up  at  her  out 
of  the  gravel. 

She  stooped,  and  picked  up  a  something  like  a  dried, 
crumbly  stem  ;  it  broke  brittlely  in  her  fingers  ;  there  was 
a  creep  of  fire  at  the  tip. 

"  What  is  this,  Peace  Polly  ?  "  she  asked,  holding  it 
before  her. 

"That!"  cried  Polly,  —  "that  is  a  slowmatch,— 
lighted ! " 

The  women  went  and  searched.  They  found  a  fusee 
trailed  along  from  where  the  slowmatch  had  been  lying, 
toward  the  lumber.  Under  a  projecting  end,  they  traced 
it  to  a  packed-in  heap  of  pine  slips  and  shavings. 

"  Morgan  !  "  broke  forth  Serena.  "  It  was  him,  then  ! 
I  saw  him,  Polly,  down  in  the  river-edge,  this  afternoon, 
—  slinking  and  waiting.  I  thought  it  was,  —  and  so  it 
must  have  "been !  He  meant  the  pasture  fire  should 
cover  it ;  but  he  meant  to  make  it  sure  !  " 

"  If  he  has  been  lurking  and  watching  about  for  this 
he  might  know  that  Lyman  was  in  the  mill !  Did  he 
mean  "  —  Peace  Polly  stopped,  and  shuddered. 


348  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  He  meant  —  anything  that  might  happen ;  destruc 
tion,  death,  —  disgrace  !  If  this  fire  had  worked  quickest, 
or  if  this  trap  had  been  found,  —  Lyman,  only  Lyman, 
was  at  the  mill,  or  near.  Do  not  people  sometimes  fire 
their  property  for  insurance,  Polly  ?  " 

Serena's  words  came  thick,  with  a  great  pressure  behind 
them  of  swift  conviction  and  of  horror.  She  had  thought, 
when  she  passed  Morgan  on  the  stairs  that  day,  that  she 
had  not  understood  his  muttering,  beyond  its  broken, 
wrathful  growl.  It  came  back  upon  her  memory  now, 
in  that  strange  way  that  things  unheard  do  make  them 
selves  plain  after,  —  clear  as  if  just  spoken  to  her  afresh. 

"Back  in  your  face  —  with  smart  and  ache  and 
shame  !  "  and  then  the  horrible  oath,  that  perhaps  had 
driven  the  rest  back  from  her  recollection  instantly. 

The  moon,  near  her  last  quarter,  was  rising  now  in 
the  southeast.  Her  level  light  struck  upon  the  smoke- 
clouds  that  poured  up  from  the  burning  hillside.  The 
flare  and  creep  of  the  fire  itself  showed  lurid  underneath. 
The  air  was  getting  fuU  and  thick.  The  two  women 
could  not  stay  any  longer  where  it  swirled  so  in  their 
faces.  They  went  back  across  the  foot-bridge,  and  down 
the  southerly  bank  a  little  way,  till  the  choke  of  it  drifted 
by  them  on  the  south  wind,  up  the  stream. 

The  Little  Happigo  is  a  very  winding  river,  and  here, 
for  a  mile  or  two,  its  trend  is  almost  south,  although, 
parallel  with  the  high  road  between  The  Knolls  and  the 
village,  and  with  the  village  street  itself,  for  a  brief  dis 
tance  back,  it  comes  down  almost  from  east  to  west.  Up 
at  the  bridge  at  the  east  end  of  the  village  i§  its  crossing 
from  the  northward.  A  mile  or  more  below  the  cove 
wharf,  now  threatened  by  the  fire,  it  bends  southeasterly 
toward  the  sea. 

The   thickening   crowd    of   men,    with   brooms,    tree- 


THE   WIND   UP  RIVER.  349 

branches,  whatever  they  could  gather  and  wield,  were 
fighting  with  the  flames.  They  had  to  run  before  them 
into  the  driving  smother  of  the  smoke,  beating  it  down 
away  from  the  endangered  wharf.  All  along  the  ad 
vancing,  evading  line  that  darted  forward  everywhere 
between  their  repulses  they  sprang  hither  and  thither, 
thrashing  it,  stamping  it,  conquering  it  back.  Some  tore 
up  and  cut  away  the  scattered  clumps  of  bushes  that  might 
have  given  it  greater  force  and  weight  and  headway. 

Lyman  seemed  everywhere.  He  was  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  ;  so  were  other  men,  but  they  wore  mostly  flannel 
working  garments,  gray  or  red  ;  his  white  arms,  uplifted, 
showed  in  the  growing  moonlight,  in  the  reddening 
glares ;  they  came  down  swiftly,  with  strong,  unfaltering 
blows. 

"  Oh,  how  tired  he  wiU  be  !  "  said  Peace  Polly.  Serena 
said  nothing,  but  her  hand  that  held  Peace  Polly's  in  her 
lap  quivered  and  clutched. 

Dr.  Fuller  had  been  farther  on,  where  the  eastward  end 
of  the  fire  came  flanking  round.  He  worked  from  there, 
where  others  presently  gathered,  down  toward  Lyman 
near  the  wharf-head.  Then  there  were  two  pairs  of 
strong,  white-clad,  swinging  arms  that  the  women  watched 
silently,  with  short  breath.  » 

There  was  a  thicket  of  furze  and  juniper,  and  a  fringe 
of  barberry  bushes,  near  the  team-way,  right  across  from 
the  wharf-side,  in  the  face  of  the  wind.  Lyman  was  on 
one  side  of  it  as  Dr.  Fuller  came  down  upon  the  other. 
A  smoke  and  sparkling  curled  and  shot  up  from*  the 
midst  of  the  wild  growth.  It  seemed  for  a  minute  or  two 
as  if  the  fire  would  get  past  them  there,  and  in  spite  of  all 
their  endeavors  sweep  over  into  the  light  lumber  that 
stood  endwise  near. 

One  moment's  breathless  flagging,  and  all  would  have 
been  lost. 


350  BONNYBOROUGH. 

And  Lyman  was  fighting  more  than  fire ;  nobody  but 
himself  knew  how. 

Direct  temptation,  a  clear  voice  of  evil,  he  could  scorn ; 
but  underneath  growing  exhaustion,  in  the  face  of  fresh 
threat  and  terrible  overbearing,  something  that  dared  not 
whisper  just  touched  an  abeyant  consciousness  in  him, 
and  called  it  up. 

He  would  do  his  best,  —  he  had  done,  he  was  doing  it  — 
but  if  this  got  the  better  now,  — he  was  hard  spent  — 

Dr.  Fuller  heard  suddenly  an  'outbreath  of  strange, 
husky  words,  between  fierce  blows,  as  he  came  near  the 
tall,  grand  figure  gathering  itself  up  and  swaying  in  the 
smoke  and  shine. 

"  Lord  keep  that  thought  out  of  me,  with  all  thy 
might  !  " 

And  then  Lyman,  with  a  great  shout  to  the  men  to 
come  this  way,  fell  upon  the  smouldering  shrubbery  anew, 
tore  it  and  scattered  it  and  stamped  it,  crying  out  to 
the  first  who  ran  to  him,  "  The  lumber,  boys !  heave  it 
off,  if  you  can  ;  back,  toward  the  river  !  " 

It  had  not  been  so  very  long  ;  the  mill-bell  was  still 
ringing,  men  still  running  up.  Only  a  little  later,  —  but 
that  little  interval  might  have  meant  all,  —  the  small,  old- 
fashioned  country  engine  came  clattering,  amid  whoops 
and  shouts,  down  the  wagon-road  on  that  side  of  the 
river  :  it  was  planted  at  the  \vharf-side ;  its  hose  unrolled, 
and  plunged  into  the  water ;  in  a  few  moments  more  a 
stream  played  upon  the  piles  of  boards ;  then  it  left  them 
dripping,  and  was  turned  toward  the  pasture.  The  fire 
gave  way  before  its  ordained  foe. 

The  crowds  of  men  and  boys  worked  on  at  the  out 
skirts  ;  the  engine  held  the  centre. 

An  hour  later,  Lyman  Schott  thanked  God  that  all  was 
safe. 


THE    WIND   UP  RIVER.  351 

They  begged  him  to  go  home  and  rest ;  a  sufficient 
force  volunteered  to  keep  faithful  watch,  and  the  little  en 
gine,  that  had  done  such  good  work,  waited  also. 

"  If  it  starts  again,  —  ever  so  little,  to  call  starting, 
—  some  one  run  and  let  me  know.  And  two  or  three  of 
you  boys  run  across  now  and  meet  us  at  the  house,  to 
bring  down  food  and  drink." 

Giving  that  order,  Lyman  took  his  way  with  the  doctor 
and  the  women,  first  around  by  the  mill,  that  he  might 
close  all  properly  there,  then  up  the  lane  and  by  the  little 
meadow-paths  over  to  The  Knolls. 

He  came  to  Serena's  side  as  they  paused  at  the  height 
of  the  lane-way  and  looked  back.  He  knew  right  well  all 
she  had  done,  but  he  could  not  speak  of  it  now.  He  only 
drew  himself  near,  and  stood,  slightly  apart  from  the 
others,  at  her  side. 

Serena  said,  "  You  have  fought  bravely,  Lyman ;  and 
it  all  seems  safe,  and  we  are  thankful.  But  you  must  care 
for  your  strength  now.  A  man  can't  work  like  that  with 
out  a  risk.  You  struggled  for  life  ;  some  life  goes  in  such 
a  fight." 

Lyman  passed  his  hand  up  across  his  bared  forehead, 
and  shook  his  hair  back  in  the  warm  wind.  "  Life,"  he 
repeated ;  "  yes,  all  that  a  man  hath  he  will  give  for  his 
life.  And  he  will  give  even  that  for  what  makes  life." 

And  Serena  did  not  yet  know  what  life  he  meant. 
Could  he  still  think  of  earthly  means  as  making  it  ? 

"  If  it  had  all  gone,  and  made  you  poor,  it  would  not 
have  mattered  like  that,"  she  said. 

"  If  it  had  all  gone,  I  should  have  been  safe  from  being 
poor,  Serena.  It  was  nearly  all  covered.  I  took  out  new 
insurances  a  month  ago." 

Now,  in  a  flash,  Serena  did  know. 

She  could  not  breathe  at  first,  as  she  heard  that.     Was 


352  BONNYBOROUGH. 

she  to  be  crushed  with  the  nobleness  of  this  plain,  prac 
tical,  over-thrifty  man,  whom  she  had  kept  out  of  his  joy 
of  life  all  these  years,  —  sitting  in  judgment  on  him  ? 

"  Oh,  Lyman  !  "  she  cried,  and  stopped  an  instant,  but 
not  because  of  being  heard.  She  forgot  to  care  for  being 
heard.  The  others  caught  the  two  words,  and  their  tone, 
and  they  walked  quietly  on. 

"  And  I  thought  you  had  loved  money  so  !  " 

"  So  I  have ;  and  so  I  do  love  money,  Serena ;  but 
not  as  I  love  God's  truth,  thank  Him  !  and  not  as  I  love 
you." 

Serena  trembled  from  head  to  foot  at  the  calm,  strong 
words,  the  words  she  never  had  thought  to  hear  again. 

"  Oh,  it  shames  me  that  you  say  that  !  "  she  cried, 
"  after  all,  —  and  all !  How  can  I  feel  a  right  to  take  it, 
or  to  answer  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  whether  you  answer  it  or  not,"  said  Ly 
man,  buoyantly.  He  had  too  much  delicate  knighthood 
to  tell  her  that  she  had  answered  it  already.  But  the 
fact  that  she  had  come  to  him  —  that  she  had  thought  of 
and  had  watched  for  him  —  had  given  him,  all  through 
that  terrible  battle  with  the  fire,  the  strength  of  twenty 
men.  It  gave  him  now  the  brightness  of  the  morn 
ing,  conquering  for  the  moment  all  exhaustion  of  the 
night. 

"You  must  go  home,  Lyman.  You  must  be  taken 
care  of  now." 

In  those  words,  that  seemed  to  put  him  off,  she  an 
swered  him  again. 

There  was  a  sweet  ring  of  humble  triumph  in  her 
voice.  At  least  now  she  could  care  for  him !  She  took 
up  her  right  of  ministry.  None  could  forbid  her  now, 
or  make  her  ashamed. 

He  went  up  with  her  over  the  wall-steps,  through  her 


THE   WIND   UP  RIVER.  353 

own  sweet,  gloomy  orchard.  He  only  left  her  at  her  door, 
and  before  he  turned  to  take  the  old  garden  way  across 
he  stood  and  held  her  face  between  his  hands,  rough  and 
stained,  thorn-torn  and  smoke-scented,  —  and  kissed  her 
on  the  mouth. 


XXXVIII. 

ANOTHER   DANGER. 

SERENA  let  him  say  good -night.  She  bade  him  go 
home  and  rest.  She  told  him  she  should  look  for  the 
light  in  the  northeast  corner,  to  let  her  know  he  was  in 
his  room. 

Lyman  went  home,  and  went  up-stairs  and  lit  his  can 
dle.  He  did  not  stop  to  determine  deliberately  whether 
he  would  make  true  the  sign  or  not.  He  would  come 
back  as  soon  as  he  could ;  meantime  Serena  must  not  sit 
up  watching.  Then  he  went  down-stairs  to  see  what  was 
doing  for  the  men. 

Rebeccarabby  was  storming  through  her  territories  like 
a  beneficent  hurricane.  Aunt  Pamely,  —  she  was  still 
here,  for  Chirke's  sister,  from  "  loway,"  had  come  to 
Woodiford,  and  the  old  carpenter  had  written  to  his  wife 
to  "  put  on  an  ell-piece,  and  go  her  lengths,"  —  Aunt 
Pamely,  arms  akimbo,  was  hopping  and  alighting  out  of 
Rabby's  way,  which  was  all  Miss  Pownes  would  give  her 
to  do,  though  she  chirped  shrilly  and  stridently,  "  I  could 
fix  that,  Rebeccarabby  !  Gi'  me  a  chance  at  somethin' ! 
Le'  me  ketch  'old  o'  that  'ere  pail !  "  But  the  pail  swung 
through  the  air  from  one  of  Rabby's  mighty  hands  to  the 
other,  and  Mrs.  Chirke  could  only  put  the  half-width  of 
the  kitchen  and  the  whole  of  the  cooking-stove  between 
herself  and  her  overwhelming  niece  with  a  spasmodic 
bound. 

"  It 's  a  goodness  -  mussy   you   ha'n't   got   no    call   t' 


ANOTHER   DANGER.  355 

move  the  stove,  —  ner  the  chimbley  !  "  she  said,  palpitat 
ingly. 

Rebeccarabby  exploded  a  hasty  rejoinder  as  she  hurtled 
by  again. 

"  When  I  'm  to  work  in  earnest  I  can't  stop  to  hand 
over  no  helpins  to  nobody.  I  should  fly  to  pieces  if  I 
did.  If  folks  wants  to  help  me,  they  must  go  an'  do 
somethin'  diffrunt !  " 

Peace  Polly  was  gathering  together  biscuits,  crackers, 
cold  meat,  pies,  doughnuts,  cheese ;  all  the  contents  of  a 
bountiful  New  England  larder.  A  great  preserve-caldron 
was  on  the  fire,  sending  up  clouds  of  fragrance  from  two 
or  three  gallons  of  boiling  coffee.  Big  baskets  stood  upon 
the  floor ;  half  a  dozen  boys  were  waiting  to  carry  them 
off. 

Serena  glided  in  with  a  tin  pail  full  of  fresh  eggs, 
boiled ;  she  had  put  them  on  the  minute  she  had  reached 
her  kitchen,  and  had  piled  up  a  chip  fire  under  them. 

Rebeccarabby  was  pouring  coffee  into  large,  wide- 
mouthed  cans.  Serena  dropped  the  eggs  rapidly,  one  by 
one,  right  in.  "  They  're  clean,"  she  said.  "  They  '11  all 
keep  hot  together,  and  the  eggs  '11  be  sure  to  be  hard.  I 
was  some  in  a  hurry,  for  fear  the  things  would  be  gone. 
You  can  tip  'em  right  out  anywhere,  when  you  've  emptied 
the  coffee." 

Rebeccarabby  did  not  say  a  word  of  objection.  She 
knew  that  nothing  from  Serena  Wyse's  hands  —  not  even 
egg-shells  —  could  be  other  than  "  chany-clean  an'  silver- 
sweet."  She  did  not  speak  thanks  or  approval,  either. 
She  had  been  a  little  shy  of  Serena  ever  since  her  Aunt 
Pamely's  revelation,  but  she  "was  not  one,"  she  said,  "to 
upset  all  the  mind  she  had  ever  made  up  about  a  person, 
because  some  perticklers  had  come  to  her  that  she  had  n't 
heerd  on  afore.  She  'd  kinder  wait  awhile  to  see  'f  they 


350  BONNYBOROUGH. 

would  n't  reconcile."  "  She  'd  alwers  said  S'reeny  was 
clean,  an'  a  Christian."  These  remarks,  with  others  of 
a  similar  tenor,  she  had  made  and  reiterated  to  Aunt 
Pamely,  in  their  continued  "  visitins  ;  "  and  declared  her 
intention  to  "  hold  to  'em  in  her  treatmunt."  Aunt 
Pamely  sniffed,  and  hunched  her  elbows  very  aggres 
sively  ;  she  had  little  to  say  to  Miss  Wyse.  On  this  oc 
casion  she  skipped  carefully  aside  from  her,  and  whis 
pered  raspingly  to  herself  in  a  corner,  "  Anybody  'd 
think  't  was  her  fire !  The  way  folks  takes  upon  'em 
clear  beats  me  !  " 

K-ebeccarabby  acquiesced  effectually  without  words,  by 
emptying  a  big  pitcher  of  "  cream- milk  "  into  the  coffee- 
cans,  over  eggs  and  all.  It  was  odd  serving:  but  it  is 
genius  which  departs  from  custom  in  emergencies,  and  it 
is  cleverness  whiiph  recognizes  and  adopts  a  cleverness. 
Besides,  people  always  make  a  point  of  doing  odd  things 
at  fires. 

Serena  tied  the  bail  of  her  egg-pail  to  the  handle  of  a 
basket,  and  packed  therein  a  wedge  of  cheese.  "  That  '11 
save  room,  and  keep  it  separate.  You  '11  know  where 
't  is,"  she  said.  "  Too,  the  tin  mugs  won't  answer  for  all, 
and  a  good  many  can  drink  out  of  the  pail." 

Aunt  Pamely  had  hit  nearer  the  truth  than  her  satire 
intended :  it  was  Serena's  fire,  now,  and  her  work ; 
though  nobody  knew  it  yet  but  Lyman,  it  made  her  very 
happy  with  her  bit  of  help,  her  hard-boiled  eggs  and  her 
tin  pail.  It  takes  so  little  to  make  the  sign,  when  the 
large  reality  is  there. 

Nevertheless,  finding  Lyman  still  down-stairs,  she  had 
been  shy,  after  that  good-night  in  the  doorway ;  and  for 
that  had  kept  herself  the  busier  in  any  small  way  that 
she  could.  She  had  come  with  her  neighborly  help, 
only,  as  was  natural,  and  as  might  have  been  expected 


ANOTHER  DANGER.  357 

by  the  others.     She  had  not,  surely,  come  to  say  good 
night  again ! 

That  made  it  difficult,  even,  to  withdraw  ;  for  she  felt 
Lyman's  eyes  upon  her,  with  their  proud,  glad  watching, 
though  he  let  her  have  what  he  saw  was  her  way,  and  keep 
her  demure  aloofness.  She  knew  she  could  not  escape 
him  if  she  moved  to  go. 

But  when  the  baskets  were  all  ready,  and  the  boys 
took  them  up  and  departed,  under  orders  to  detail  fresh 
messengers  for  more ;  when  the  big  caldron  had  gone  on 
again,  and  Rebeccarabby  was  again  ransacking  the  but 
tery,  she  faced  her  dilemma,  and  went  straight  over  to 
where  he  stood. 

"Your  light  is  there,  and  you  are  here,"  she  said. 
"  This  is  women's  work ;  you  can  be  spared.  Leave  it 
to  us  ;  we  can  rest  up  to-morrow." 

Lyman  looked  as  if  he  would  have  stood  there  all 
night,  just  to  let  her  order  him  off  continually.  But  as  he 
opened  his  lips  to  answer  her,  he  turned  suddenly  pale ; 
his  jaws  trembled  ;  shiver  after  shiver  ran  quickly  over 
him  ;  he  grew  giddy. 

In  the  midst  of  everything,  in  the  beginning  of  his 
gladness,  the  strong  man  was  taken  ill. 

Serena  and  Dr.  Fuller  were  on  either  side  of  him  ; 
both  sprang  to  him ;  between  them  they  helped  him  to 
the  big  kitchen  lounge,  and  laid  him  down. 

"  It  was  nothing,"  he  told  them ;  but  his  teeth  chat 
tered  as  he  spoke. 

Hot  water,  restoratives,  all  things  that  were  needed, 
were  right  at  hand.  In  a  little  while,  with  stimulant 
nourishment,  chafing,  soft  warm  wraps,  and  Rebecca- 
rabby's  perpetual  hot  footstone  from  the  oven-corner,  the 
rigor  was  abated.  Then  Miss  Pownes  spoke  up,  lifting 
her  huge  ladle  in  signal  of  authority. 


358  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  You  three  take  care  o'  him,"  she  said,  "  an'  git  him 
to  bed.  I  '11  see  to  the  victuals,  ef  't  was  a  ridgimint. 
I  've  ben  expectin'  it,  an'  now  it 's  come."  And  she 
turned  back  to  her  caldron  with  stern  self-possession,  like 
a  soldier  in  charge. 

There  is  no  need  to  dwell  upon  detail.  Hot  fever 
flush  followed  the  chill ;  great  pain  set  in,  in  head  and 
limbs  ;  strength  and  nerve  had  at  last  been  exceeded  by 
their  strain ;  the  very  reaction  of  a  conflicting  happiness 
after  long  years  of  denial  and  repression  had  come  in 
with  its  culminating  touch,  and  the  sharply  reversed 
springs,  though  of  goodly,  tempered  steel,  were  nigh  to 
break. 

Lyman,  by  the  next  day,  was  very  ill  indeed. 

There  were  two  bitterly  self-blaming  women  in  the 
house.  For  Serena,  making  no  word  of  explanation, 
simply  took  her  post  there,  only  going  home  for  meals 
and  for  her  turn  at  sleep.  They  said  nothing  to  each 
other ;  they  paused  not  to  confess,  or  to  console,  or  reas 
sure  ;  each  went  about  with  her  own  heavy  heart,  but 
they  would  not  take  the  minutes  from  their  work,  or  risk 
the  self-control  that  was  their  strength  for  Lyman's  need, 
to  speak  a  word  of  their  own  heaviness  or  sore  repent 
ance. 

They  had  not  half  known  him  heretofore,  the  brother 
or  the  lover.  A  great,  true  heart,  under  an  unmoved 
front,  a  teasing  banter,  a  common  routine  of  money-earn 
ing.  Was  he  only  to  be  shown  to  them  to  be  lifted  away 
out  of  their  life  into  that  to  which  they  might  not  follow 
him  ?  Did  God  say  to  them,  "  He  was  yours  a  little 
while  ;  you  did  not  understand  him  ;  you  rejected  him ;  I 
know  him,  and  he  comes  to  Me  "  ? 

Dr.  Fuller  watched  him  like  a  brother.  Now  was  the 
opportunity  for  those  young  men  with  the  new  tin  signs 


ANOTHER   DANGER.  359 

out,  to  take  whatever  they  could  of  the  practice  they  had 
come  for.  All  but  the  critical  cases  were  relegated  to 
whomever  might  serve  the  call,  during  those  days  and 
nights  of  brief,  sore  struggle. 

The  fever  was  sharp,  was  swift.  The  skill  that  met  it 
was  fine,  the  sympathy  and  discernment  quick  ;  the  de 
votion  of  the  nursing  was  absolute ;  the  mercy  of  God 
was  above  all.  I  will  not  try  to  carry  you  through  the 
suspense,  the  alternations ;  the  like  are  known  .to  most  of 
us,  sufficiently,  in  the  realities  of  our  own  histories.  We 
have  enough  to  bear,  in  these. 

It  was  in  the  second  week  that  the  turn  came :  one  of 
those  long,  exhausted  sleeps,  in  which  the  spirit  seems  to 
be  but  just  kept  hovering  while  the  body's  life  waits  un 
determined,  and  then  a  gentle  waking,  in  utter  weakness, 
but  with  the  soul  surely  there  again,  and  looking  out  from 
within  the  quiet  eyes.  Their  first  look  was  upon  Serena. 
She  had  asked  to  come  when  he  should  show  signs  of 
rousing,  and  for  fourteen  hours,  from  afternoon  to  morn 
ing,  she  had  not  left  the  house  or  gone  from  hearing. 
She  knew  that  her  face,  if  anything,  would  call  him  fully 
back,  and  hold  him  on  this  side.  And  so  it  did. 

"  It  is  you,  —  it  is  my  wife  ?  "  he  whispered  ;  for  all 
through  his  bewilderment  of  sickness  he  had  not  lost 
memory  of  that.  It  had  rested,  a  consciousness  back  of 
all  unconsciousness,  his  very  anchorage  with  earth. 

And  Serena  stooped  and  kissed  him,  and  answered, 
"  Yes." 


XXXIX. 

•  ISA.    XL.    1,  2. 

PEACE  POLLY  came  softly  to  the  door  a  moment  or 
two  later,  saw  that  her  own  moment  had  not  come, 
and  moved  away  even  more  softly. 

Gaining  so  the  end  of  the  upper  hall,  she  turned  there, 
swiftly,  fled  into  her  own  room,  hid  herself  in  the  deep  win 
dow-seat  behind  the  straight-falling  curtains  of  white  dim 
ity,  and  cried  as  she  had  never  known  how  to  cry  before. 

Gladness,  thankfulness,  a  tempest  of  tenderness,  jeal 
ousy,  remorse ;  a  meeting  and  bursting  in  her  heart  of 
brooding  clouds  that  would  not  be  clouds  any  more,  but 
whose  outpour  was  a  stormy  torrent ;  a  break  of  gloom, 
a  rushing  forth  of  sunshine  that  penetrated  her  through 
and  through,  yet  in  the  midst  of  whose  dazzle  there  was, 
between  the  heaven  and  earth  of  her,  a  weeping  like 
strong  javelins  of  rain.  Heaven  and  earth,  and  the  wa 
ters  under  the  earth,  were  moved  and  fused.  She  did 
not  know  the  why  of  all  the  tumult  in  her,  either  of  joy  or 
pain,  or  what  the  stir  was  of  her  life's  atmosphere  with 
change  and  blessing  close  impending,  but  as  yet  beyond 
her  conscious  intuition.  ^ 

Her  supreme  thought  was  that  her  brother  had  come 
back ;  that  he  had  gone  from  her.  Her  day  and  oppor 
tunity  were  over.  She  had  wasted  them  ;  had  lost  the 
sisterhood  she  might  have  filled  to  him,  forever.  So 
she  cried,  and  cried,  though  for  all  that  there  was  surg 
ing  in  her  both  a  presence  and  monition  of  great  joy. 


ISA.  XL.  1,  2.  361 

This  great  good  —  this  enlargement  and  completion  — 
that  had  come  to  Lyman,  was  she  not  glad,  even  to  a  fine 
anguish,  for  that  ?  Was  not  all  life  suddenly  larger  for 
them  all  ?  It  was  only  that  something  had  gone  by  her, 
as  in  a  darkness,  that  she  had  not  known  until  too  late  ; 
that  all  these  years  her  brother's  waiting  had  been  harder, 
because  she  had  not  seen. 

Two  great  commandments  wrote  themselves  up  over 
against  her  thought  like  the  writing  on  Belshazzar's  palace 
wall. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  kill." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  steal." 

Had  she  not  kept  back,  and  defrauded  ?  Had  she  not 
lessened,  and  deprived,  a  life  ? 

Ah,  the  depth  of  the  righteousness  of  these  mighty,  ter 
rible  laws  did  indeed  exceed  all  common  obedience  of 
scribe  and  pharisee  !  She  was  proving  them  to  their  heart, 
a  heart  of  fire  ! 

And  yet,  even  in  the  tempest,  even  through  the  midst 
of  the  fire,  she  felt  a  hand  that  led  her  with  a  blessing ; 
she  knew  the  presence  of  the  forgiving  and  restoring  Son 
of  Man. 

She  could  not  have  borne  this  very  long. 

A  message  came  to  her.  Dr.  Fuller  stood  by  the  half- 
opened  door. 

"  Miss  Peace,"  he  said  gently,  "  he  asks,  '  Where  is  my 
little  sister  ?  '  Come  !  " 

And  she  came  forth  with  all  the  tears  and  conflict  in 
her  face. 

Her  friend  said  nothing ;  only  took  her  kindly  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  round  to  her  brother's  room  again. 

"  Pease  Porridge,  kiss  me.  I  am  very  happy,"  Lyman 
said,  in  his  weak  voice. 

How  different  from  the  old  strong  speech,  —  from  the 
provoking  "  Pease  Porridge  "  ! 


362  BONNYBOROUGH. 

As  she  leaned  over  him,  she  whispered  one  word,  with 
her  whole  heart  in  it,  "  Forgive  !  " 

"  Dear  little  Polly !  "  was  all  Lyman's  answer.  And 
then  Peace  Polly  had  to  hasten  away,  and  outside  the 
door  let  her  tears  hreak  forth  afresh. 

Dr.  Fuller  followed  her.  He  led  her  to  the  other  end 
of  the  long  hall,  where  a  tall,  fan-topped  window  lighted 
it,  opposite  another  at  the  north  side,  that  overlooked  the 
broad  staircase  landing.  He  put  her  in  a  chair,  and  stood 
beside  her. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  had  a  good  cry,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  the  best  ending  to  the  long  tension.  I  should  have 
been  afraid  for  you  without  it.  Now,  you  must  grow 
calm  and  happy,  and  take  rest.  Those  two  can  almost 
do  without  us,  now." 

Did  he  guess  the  chord,  and  touch  it  purposely  ? 

"  Oh,  that  is  it !  "  she  cried,  through  tremulous  lips. 
"  They  are  like  people  gone  to  heaven.  The  time  when 
Lyman  could  not  do  without  me  is  over,  —  and  I  left  him 
without  any  one  !  " 

"  I  do  not  think  you  did.  I  think  you  were  both  lonely, 
and  you  could  not  help  it.  We  are  not  bound  to  see 
things  beyond  our  horizon.  And  —  Peace  —  I  do  not 
think  he  would  have  been  where  he  is  now,  —  I  mean  in 
that  place  in  his  life  where  he  ought  to  be,  —  if  it  had  not 
been  for  you." 

"  I  kept  him  from  it,  —  once,  —  I  know  !  "  sobbed 
Peace. 

"  If  you  did,  it  has  been  given  you  to  bring  it  to  him 
again.  I  believe  the  making-up  is  always  given,  where 
there  is  a  right,  loving  will  to  touch,  —  wherever,  there 
fore,  a  repentance,  or  a  sorrow  for  a  mistake  or  failure, 
can  be." 

A  face  was  lifted  to  him  in  reply  that  was,  in  its  single, 


ISA.   XL.   1,   8.  363 

separate,  yet  full-fraught  way,  a  type  of  the  face  of  the 
world  lifted  up  to  Christus  Consolator. 

The  great  consoling  of  his  words  swept  down  her  self- 
upbraiding.  But  she  wanted  her  own  special,  definite  as 
surance,  if  he  had  such  for  her. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  she  asked ;  and  her  tone  im 
plored  him  eagerly. 

"  Serena  said,"  he  answered  her,  "  when  I  had  come  in, 
and  they  had  signed  or  told  me  something  that  did  not 
need  a  sign  or  telling,  and  then  they  had  both  begun  to 
ask  for  you,  —  Serena  said,  '  It  was  all  Peace  Polly,  Ly- 
man ;  if  she  had  not  flown  at  me  that  morning  in  your 
quarrel  like  a  little  angry  angel,  I  should  never  have 
known ;  things  would  never  have  come  different.'  I  be 
lieve  she  thought  I  had  gone,  then ;  but  I  think  I  made 
very  little  odds,  —  as  Rabby  says." 

He  went  away  then,  and  left  her  with  that  balm. 

Late  in  the  day,  he  came  up-stairs,  and  found  her  in 
the  selfsame  spot  again.  Serena  was  sitting  beside  Ly- 
man,  and  Peace  Polly  had  brought  a  rug-strip,  and  sat 
working  where  she  could  feel  near,  and  hear  a  call.  She 
had  given  the  first  place  up,  and  was  already  taking  with 
joy  the  second. 

The  color  she  had  chosen  to  work  with  was  a  tender 
olive,  shaded  up  with  light  to  almost  primrose.  Outside 
the  tall,  Queen- Anne  window,  western  sunshine  shot  along 
through  the  green  leaves,  making  the  same  mellow,  sober 
brightness. 

Dr.  Fuller  looked  at  her  an  instant,  from  the  stair-head, 
then  walked  on,  past  Lyman's  door  and  his  own,  and  came 
to  her. 

"  How  quiet  and  beautiful,  —  how  right,  —  it  all  is 
now !  "  he  said. 

Peace  Polly  knew  very  well  that  quite  one  half  his 
meaning  was  for  her.  She  looked  up. 


364  BONNYBOROUCIL 

"  Yes,  it  is  quiet,  and  right,  and  happy,"  she  answered 
him.  "  And  I  think  you  came  here  to  be  comfort  to  me," 
she  said,  in  her  clear,  simple  fashion,  with  eyes  full  of 
thankful  sweetness  lifted  up  as  he  thought  only  those 
eyes  could  lift. 

Was  it  possible  for  him  to  do  otherwise  now  ?  He  drew 
a  chair  close,  and  sat  beside  her. 

"Do  you  know,  Peace,  you  have  called  me  by  my 
name  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

She  could  only  repeat  his  words  in  bewilderment.  "By 
your  name  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes.  I  will  tell  you.  Somewhere,  far  back  in  my 
Puritan  ancestry,  a  mother,  or  a  father,  —  a  pious  woman 
or  a  repentant,  godly  man,  —  named  a  firstborn  child  out 
of  the  fortieth  chapter  of  Isaiah.  It  has  been  handed 
down,  the  quaint,  queer  inheritance  in  baptism,  until  it 
has  come  to  me.  On  the  way,  it  may  have  been  a  legacy 
of  hope  and  solace  —  it  may  have  been  meant  and  pro 
vided  so  by  those  who  had  known  what  the  ache  and  need 
and  answering  were  with  men  —  to  more  than  one  trouble 
or  repentance.  I  have  always  felt  it  a  kind  of  sacred 
thing.  Do  you  remember  those  first  verses  of  that  chap 
ter?" 

Peace  did  remember  them.  A  few  years  before,  when 
a  wonderful,  gracious  man,  a  teacher  and  revealer  of  hu 
man  souls,  had  been  in  the  country  from  a  home  beyond 
the  sea,  she  had  heard  him  read  them  in  a  church.  After 
that,  she  could  never  have  forgotten  their  place  and  num 
ber  in  the  Holy  Book. 

"  I  know,"  she  replied,  as  her  companion  waited.  And 
she  repeated,  lowly,  as  he  still  did  not  speak,  " '  Com 
fort  ye,  comfort  ye  my  people  !  '  I  knew  a  woman  once 
who  was  called  so,"  she  said. 

"  There  are  a  few  names  that  are  fitted,  and  have  been 


ISA.  XL.  1,  2.  365 

used,  for  man  or  woman,"  Dr.  Fuller  said."  "I  do  not 
care  that  every  one  should  know  me  familiarly  by  such  a 
word.  It  is  a  lovely  one  for  a  mother  to  call  her  child 
by,  or  a  wife  her  husband  ;  but  it  is  not  for  the  crowd. 
It  is  long  since  I  have  had  the  one  to  speak  to  me  ;  the 
other  I  have  never  had.  But  I  have  kept  the  name  for 
some  one." 

There  was  no  word  —  scarcely  a  breath  —  to  answer 
him,  as  he  paused. 

"  You  have  called  me  by  it  twice,  —  Peace !  " 

Not  a  word,  no  movement,  even  yet.  Unless  the  rising 
and  falling  of  the  bosom  where  the  breath  that  had  been 
caught  now  came  and  went  were  motion. 

"  Could  you  call  me  by  it  always  ?  Would  you  let  my 
name  be  yours,  Peace  ?  " 

The  odd  conceit  that  came  to  her  suddenly,  after  a 
minute's  utter  silence,  was  her  only  refuge ;  for  the  rest, 
there  was  too  much  to  take  on  words.  It  was  just  like 
her,  and  no  one  else,  that  she  looked  up  at  him  with  that 
shy,  happy  daring,  her  face  all  rosy  and  trembling  and 
laughing  in  sweet  light,  and  said,  half  frightened  after 
all,— 

"  I  suppose  I  should  be  —  Peace-Fuller !  " 

She  sprang  up  when  she  had  said  it,  and  would  have 
fled  away,  but  he  stood  up  quickly,  also,  and  put  his  arms 
about  her,  holding  her  most  gently,  fast. 

"It  has  been  spoken,  and  it  shall  be,  God  helping  me! " 
he  said.  And  so  he  kept  her  there,  and  made  her  sit 
again  beside  him. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  the  rest  of  it,"  she  said,  when 
some  unspoken  emphasis  had  been  laid,  she  thought  suf 
ficiently,  upon  the  word. 

"  The  rest  ?  Oh,  it  will  take  my  life  long  to  tell  you  all, 
I  think.  The  rest  of  what,  Peace  ?  " 


366  BONNYBOROUGH. 

"  The  name."  It  was  cunning  of  her  that  she  used 
the  article,  and  not  the  pronoun.  Or  perhaps  it  was  un 
witting. 

"  Can  you  say  that  next  verse  half  through?  "  he  asked 
her. 

"  i  Speak  ye  comfortably  to  Jerusalem,  and  cry  unto  her 
that  her  warfare  is  accomplished,  her  iniquity  is  par 
doned  !  '  "  repeated  Peace  Polly,  slowly.  "  Yes,  you  have 
brought  me  the  whole  message,"  she  said,  with  a  quick 
humbleness. 

"  My  little  Peace !  "  he  exclaimed,  drawing  her  close 
again.  "  Did  you  think  I  meant  that  ?  " 

"It  means  so;  and  it  is  true,  and  I  am  glad,"  said 
Peace. 

"  Dear  heart,  all  your  iniquity  is  but  the  merest  un- 
equalness,  which  is  the  rightful  word.  And  the  Pardon 
always  waits." 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  in  your  name,"  said  Peace,  again. 
"  Now  I  know  that  it  has  really  come  to  me." 

"  It  hides  behind  the  other ;  it  is  not  wanted  now,  it 
will  be  seldom  wanted,  but  it  will  be  always  there." 

"  Oh,  I  want  them  both  !  "  Peace  Polly  cried. 

"  And  I,"  he  answered.  "  We  both  want  them  ;  they 
are  given  us  together.  What  is  that  other  verse,  about 
the  calling  by  name  ?  '* 

Even  now  he  did  not  tell  her  these  things  as  from  above 
or  beyond,  or  even  as  one  to  whom  they  were  very  ready. 
He  but  touched  her  own  knowledge  or  memory  of  them, 
and  left  them  to  her  lips,  if  they  would,  to  say. 

"  '  Fear  not,  for  I  have  redeemed  thee ;  I  have  called 
thee  by  thy  name  ;  thou  art  mine.'  " 

She  did  not  say  them  with  her  lips,  but  they  rested, 
like  a  gift,  in  her  heart,  and  her  heart  had  a  double 
meaning  for  them  from  that  day. 


XL. 

BETROTHALS. 

IT  was  in  one  of  those  days  just  after,  when  Dr.  Fuller 
had  gone  up  to  Boston  for  his  deferred  meeting  with  his 
sister-in-law,  —  who  had  been  left,  while  Lyman  was  so  ill, 
to  the  greetings  and  hospitalities  of  her  other  dear  friends, 
more  multitudinous  and  more  intense,  now,  to  the  value 
of  exactly  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  —  that 
Peace  Polly  had,  and  received,  a  morning  visitor.  Peo 
ple  had  come,  day  after  day,  all  along,  to  inquire,  but 
Rebeccarabby  had  answered  them,  tramping  with  a  high- 
stepping  lightness,  yet  with  all  the  air  and  motion  of  the 
old  tremendous  tread,  through  the  hall,  to  interrupt  their 
knocking,  and  to  deliver,  like  a  culverin,  the  day's  re 
port. 

Rose  Howick  had  come  now,  and  was  admitted. 

It  did  not  take  the  kinship  of  fellow-feeling  to  tell 
Peace  Polly  that  she  was  happy,  and  that  she  had  come 
with  news. 

Mr.  Innesley  had  been  away  for  his  ordination,  and 
had  returned.  The  Institution  was  just  over.  The  Sep 
tember  weeks  were  speeding,  and  the  Confirmation  was 
close  at  hand.  Dr.  Fuller  was  to  be  back  for  that;  it 
would  be  on  the  very  next  approaching  Sunday.  Peace 
Polly  sat  happy,  with  all  her  thoughts  for  company,  yet 
she  let  Rose  come  and  bring  her  hers. 

"  I  have  something  that  I  do  not  know  how  to  tell  you ; 
but  you  are  the  very  first,"  said  the  young  girl  to  her 


368  BONNYBOROUGH. 

who  felt  whole  lustres  the  elder,  though  they  were  very 
nearly  of  the  same  years. 

"  Look  this  way,  Rose  !  "  and  Peace  Polly  touched  her 
finger  to  the  pink,  dimpled  chin  of  the  half-averted  face, 
and  as  with  a  magnet  turned  it  gently  round.  "  I  think 
it  tells  itself,"  she  said,  laughing. 

Then  Rose  laughed  too.  But  the  laugh  died  softly 
down  upon  her  face,  and  left  a  very  earnest,  wistful  look 
there. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  ever  came  to  be  true !  "  she 
said.  "  Richard  Innesley  has  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 
She  spoke  his  name,  and  told  her  tidings,  notwithstanding 
they  had  told  themselves,  with  a  proud,  sweet  air.  She 
was,  indeed,  a  Rose  Enthroned. 

"  And  you  will  be  the  rector's  kdy,"  said  Peace  Polly. 
"  I  hope  you  and  Mrs.  Farron  will  agree." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Farron  is  lovely.  She  has  seen  it  ever  so 
long,  from  the  very  beginning ;  but  she  has  never  looked, 
or  seemed  —  She  is  n't  like  anybody  else  in  Bonnybor- 
ough  but  you  and  Miss  Serena ;  and  she  is  n't  a  bit  like 
either  of  you,  either  !  " 

Peace  Polly  could  not  quite  keep  down  a  smile.  But 
there  was  reason  for  it,  beyond  the  good  reasons  she  was 
witting  to,  why  Mrs.  Dora  first  had  not,  and  then  with 
consistency  or  carefulness  would  not,  make  sign  or  inter 
ference  in  this  thing. 

"  I  thought  I  was  the  very  first,"  she  said  to  Rose. 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  I  have  told  ;  except,  of  course,  my 
father  and  my  mother.  It  was  Mr.  Innesley  "  — 

"  Oh ! "       ' 

"  He  said  it  was  quite  due  to  her,  for  though  she  has 
never  seemed  to  see,  she  has  really  been  so  much  the 
means  of  it ;  she  has  had  us  both  with  her  so  much,  and 
he  thinks  she  has  wished  it,  somehow,  from  the  first." 


BETROTHALS.  369 

"  Oh !  "  said  Peace  Polly,  again.  It  is  such  a  beautiful 
thing,  sometimes,  how  little  people  know. 

Rose  knew  more  than  she  thought  for,  though,  and 
presently  it  came  forth,  not  quite  to  her  own  easement. 

"  But  that  is  not  all  I  have  to  say  to  you,  Peace  Polly. 
There  was  a  time  when  he  did  not  quite  know,  —  when  it 
was  all  uncertain,  I  mean,  Polly.  Mr.  Innesley  would  not 
ask  me  until  he  had  told  me  that  he  had  come  very  near 
to  asking  you,  and  that  you  had  known  him  better  than  he 
knew  himself,  and  had  shown  him  his  mistake.,  That  is 
why  I  come  to  you  first,  Peace  Polly !  " 

It  was  surely  a  great  deal  better  than  if  Mr.  Innesley 
had  come ! 

But  she  put  away  any  thought  about  herself,  and  cer 
tainly  any  little  secret  amusement.  This  was  her  friends' 
life-crisis  and  great  joy.  It  should  not  want,  now,  for  any 
certainty,  or  sympathy,  that  she  could  give.  Was  it  in 
deed,  all  grateful  acknowledgment,  or  some  lingering  little 
wish  to  read  in  her  a  complete  assurance,  that  had  sent 
Rose  Howick  with  her  early  news  ? 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  know,"  she  said  to  her.  "  It  was 
very  right,  and  like  a  noble  man,  for  Mr.  Innesley  to  tell 
you.  And  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me,  because  else  you 
might  always  imagine  I  was  thinking  of  it  as  a  thing  you 
did  not  know.  He  only  liked  me,  Rose  ;  I  am  sure  he 
loved  you,  always.  How  could  he  help  it  ?  I  was  not 
lovable  at  all.  But  he  liked  my  thoughts,  and  my  trying 
to  grow  higher,  and  he  had,  I  suppose,  a  kind  of  judg 
ment  over  himself  that  he  was  not  to  do  the  thing  that 
pleased  him,  but  the  thing  that  was  to  keep  him  at  his 
greatest  elevation  !  As  if  there  was  anything  but  just 
such  dear  love  as  he  has  for  you  that  would  do  that !  It 
is  all  right,  Rose  ;  any  other  way,  it  was  all  a  mistake, 
and  would  have  been  all  wrong.  And  he  never  really  did 
ask  me.  It  is  you  who  are  the  '  very  first.'  " 


370  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Rose  put  her  arms  around  Peace  Polly's  neck,  and 
kissed  her.  "  There  was  never  anybody  just  like  you," 
she  said. 

She  did  not  stay  long  after  that.  Peace  Polly  felt  al 
most  ungrateful,  after  she  had  gone,  that  she  had  let  her 
go  without  a  confidence  in  return.  But  they  had  all 
agreed  here  at  The  Knolls  that  absolutely  nothing  should 
be  said. 

If  Dr.  Fuller  also  felt  under  a  kind  of  mortgage  to  Mrs. 
Dora  with  his  intelligence,  he  either  let  it  remain  on  in 
terest  a  little  longer,  or  Mrs.  Dora  kept  the  secret  like 
the  great  pyramid  of  Egypt. 

All  Bonnyborough  was  under  the  impression  still  that 
Mrs.  C.  P.  Fuller  was  already  on  the  earth,  the  wife  of 
his  youth ;  only  that  she  was  just  now  in  Europe. 

As  Lyman  got  well,  they  had  some  of  those  delicious 
days  together  when  an  invalid  is,  as  such,  still  off  active 
duty,  but  capable  of  every  sort  of  passive  enjoyment. 
Serena  talked  to  him  ;  Peace  Polly  read  to  both,  while 
Lyman  rested  and  Serena  had  her  needlework.  They 
went  over  now,  by  degrees,  all  the  incidents  of  the  fire. 
Serena  had  kept  the  crumbled  slowmatch  and  the  piece 
of  fuse ;  some  boys  had  found  and  quarreled  over  a  clasp- 
knife  that  turned  up  between  the  displaced  boards;  a 
workman  had  come  along,  and  taken  it,  saying  that  it  was 
Mr.  Morgan's.  There  was  no  reason,  in  other  minds,  to 
connect  it  with  the  fire  ;  the  foreman  might  have  dropped 
it  any  day.  But  they  knew,  here  at  The  Knolls,  that  it 
completed  the  strong  chain  of  circumstantial  proof  against 
the  evil-doing  man. 

Peace  Polly  had  asked  Lyman  what  he  would  do  about 
it. 

"  I  shall  return  him  the  knife  some  day,"  Lyman  said. 

It  was  all  he  did  do ;  but  the  very  silence  concerning 


BETROTHALS.  371 

all  else,  save  that  it  was  picked  up  between  the  spruce 
planks  after  the  fire,  was  sufficient ;  the  fellow  knew  well 
what  else  might  have  been  discovered,  and  where  the 
power  of  disclosure  lay ;  there  was  not  much  danger  from 
him  hereafter,  at  least  so  far  as  boards  and  shingles  were 
concerned.  It  was  not  very  long  before  he  sought  and 
found  at  a  distance  such  occupation  as  he  could,  without 
reference  to  his  late  employer.  As  regarded  that,  he  knew 
he  had  lost  his  links ;  that  he  was  off  the  track.  A  man 
without  a  referable  antecedent  is  worse  off  even  than  a 
man  without  a  country  ;  he  is  self-detached  ;  in  begin 
ning  a  new  account  with  the  world  he  finds  indeed  that  a 
man  cannot  be  born,  in  any  earthly  sense,  when  he  is  old. 

Peace  Polly  wrote  Lyman's  letters.  She  had  gone, 
while  he  was  ill,  to  Mr.  Howick,  who  was  a  man  of  busi 
ness,  and  president  of  the  Bonnyborough  bank  :  he  had, 
at  her  request,  gone  down  to  the  counting-room,  and  looked 
a  little  into  Lyman's  memoranda ;  just  enough  to  see  what 
might  be  immediately  pending,  and  if  there  were  any  pay 
ments  to  meet.  And  Peace  Polly  had  talked  over  or 
ders  with  the  young  fellow  who  had  been  next  under 
Morgan,  and  who  now  came  to  the  front  and  head  with 
capacity  that  matched  his  opportunity. 

There  had  been  one  considerable  note  falling  due 
within  a  few  days  of  the  fire.  Lyman  was  a  shareholder 
and  depositor  in  the  Bonnyborough  bank,  and  had  at  this 
time  —  probably  in  provision  for  this  immediate  payment 
—  a  large  balance  there  ;  within  a  third,  indeed,  of  enough 
to  meet  the  amount.  But  Lyman  was  in  the  delirium  of 
fever ;  the  bank  discounted  Peace  Polly's  note,  indorsed 
by  Serena  Wyse,  for  the  entire  sum,  and  paid  it  into  the 
Boston  bank  where  Lyman's  lay. 

The  two  women,  in  the  midst  of  their  trouble,  made 
their  brave  little  meddle  in  business  with  a  certain  tri 
umphant  sweetness  of  satisfaction. 


372  BONNYBOROUGII. 

When  Lyman  asked,  bewilderedly,  between  his  blinder 
wanderings,  of  the  day  of  the  month,  and  tried  to  talk  of 
something  to  "take  up,"  and  of  "going  to  protest," 
Peace  Polly  stooped  down  to  him  with  a  kiss,  and  told 
him  there  was  nothing  to  take  up  but  his  gruel,  and  no 
protesting  to  be  done ;  and  if  he  meant  that  note  to  Har- 
rimans,  Mr.  Howick  had  seen  to  that,  and  there  would  be 
nothing  else  but  the  mill  until  long  after  he  would  be 
about  again ;  and  she  and  Serena  and  John  Golden  could 
run  the  mill.  They  were  all  partners  now,  with  John  for 
foreman ;  and  John  Golden  was  worth  twenty  Morgans, 
with  the  rascality  left  out. 

The  insurance  company  which  had  taken  the  chief  risk 
had  written  a  hearty  acknowledgment  of  his  great  energy 
and  faithfulness  in  averting  the  loss  ;  his  name  was  in  the 
mouths  of  men  with  admiration  and  honor ;  there  would 
be  no  trouble  about  any  service  or  accommodation  he 
might  need.  And  it  ended,  shortly,  in  his  needing  none  ; 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  threatening  had  but  been  to  work 
the  special  good  that  could  only  in  some  such  way  have 
come  about ;  for  a  large  contractor  wrote  to  him  from  a 
seaboard  town  for  an  immediate  shipping,  by  water,  of  the 
very  class  of  finishings  which  they  had  learned  from  the 
Hathertons  he  had  under  way. 

Lyman's  convalescence  was  almost  like  the  waking  of 
an  earth-wearied  "  pilgrim"  on  the  calm,  new  shores 
where,  indeed, 

"  All  things  are  spring  to  God's  dear,  new  beginnings." 

"  I  feel,"  he  said  to  Serena,  when  they  walked  down 
the  grass-path  to  the  low  gate,  together,  for  the  first  time, 
"  as  if  I  were  twenty-five  years  old  again." 

And  Serena's  smile  at  him  made  her  look  like  the 
twenty  that  would  have  corresponded. 

Rebeccarabby  saw  them  when  they  came  in.     She  was 


BETROTHALS.  373 

writing  that  night  to  Aunt  Pamely,  who  had  gone  back  to 
Woodiford  with  very  much  mollified  sentiments  toward 
Serena,  and  it  must  be  confessed  toward  Providence  it 
self,  for  the  outcome  of  things  that  she  had  never  before 
been  able  to  "  see  through." 

"  You  can  not  get  married  till  your  time  comes  any 
more  than  you  can  die,"  Rebeccarabby  wrote.  "  I  begin 
to  realize  now  what  folks  mean  when  they  say  it  will  be 
all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence.  The  Lord  takes  his 
time ;  but  it  is  his  own,  and  He  has  got  lots  of  it." 

Rebeccarabby  wrote  very  exactly  ;  indeed,  abbreviations 
in  script  were  quite  beyond  her,  curious  as  she  was  in  them 
in  lively  speech.  She  also  let  punctuation  modestly  alone, 
as  a  thing  too  high  for  her,  except  when  she  came  to  an 
undeniable  full  stop.  But  she  had  been  head  girl  at 
the  "  spellin'-matches"  down  in  Statermaine,  and  Aunt 
Pamely  and  all  the  Woodiford  kin  were  as  proud  of  her 
letters  as  the  townsmen  of  a  member  of  Congress  may  be 
of  his  printed  speeches. 

The  Bishop  arrived,  the  Sunday  came,  and  Lyman  was 
able  to  be  driven  to  church  for  the  confirmation  service. 
He  was  not  quite  strong  enough  to  go  in  time  for  prayers 
and  sermon;  but  he  would  not  stay  away  when  Peace 
Polly  was  to  enter  upon  this  solemn  consecration  of  her 
life.  Even  he  did  not  know  that  any  other  of  his  house 
hold  was  to  share  the  ordinance. 

Peace  Polly  and  Serena  and  Dr.  Fuller  had  taken  seats 
together  near  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  little  transepts. 
Lyman  could  come  in  quietly,  they  had  kept  room  beside 
them. 

Once,  Lyman  might  have  regretted  that  his  sister  could 
not  go  his  way  into  the  sheepfold  :  he  had  learned  better  ; 
the  four  friends,  though  without  many  definite  words,  had 


874  BONNYBOROUGH. 

come  so  near  each  other  in  some  talks  that  had  arisen  in 
that  pleasant  room  of  his  recovery  that  he  could  understand 
how  only  they  who  would  climb  up  without  the  Shepherd 
are  the  trespassers  or  the  unknown  of  Him  ;  and  that  He 
may  indeed  open  more  than  one  door,  though  the  fold, 
the  true  kingdom,  is  and  ever  shall  be  one. 

As  the  beautiful  hymn  rose  with  its  petition, 

"Arm  these  thy  soldiers,  might}'  Lord," 

and  the  music  swelled  to  a  sweet  chorus,  and  they  who 
were  come  for  the  "  promise  and  the  blessing  "  softly  left 
places  ancT  moved  through  the  aisles  into  the  chancel,  he 
felt  a  great  thrill,  and  was  conscious  of  the  surprise  that 
stirred  in  those  about  him  and  throughout  the  assembly,  as 
following  eyes  expressed,  when  the  tall,  noble  figure  of  Dr. 
Fuller  was  seen  to  advance,  close  behind  Peace  Polly  in  her 
soft  white  dress,  with  some  fair  asters  in  her  bosom  ;  and 
the  two  knelt  side  by  side,  among  the  others,  by  the  rail. 

There  were  very  young  girls  and  lads  ;  there  were  one 
or  two  old  persons,  men  and  women  ;  these  two  were  in 
the  grand  fullness,  the  sweet  perfection,  of  manhood  and 
womanhood.  Upon  them  all  were  the  hands  laid,  solemn, 
tender,  each  in  turn ;  over  each  was  the  prayer  prayed, — 

"  Defend,  O  Lord,  this  thy  child." 

No  difference  mattered,  of  age  or  any  other,  here,  before 
Him.  They  were  all  children,  especially  in  this  coming  to 
their  Father's  house  and  family.  The  fair,  shining  head 
of  Peace,  the  grand  one,  lightly  time-touched,  next  her, 
alike  and  in  succession  received  the  grace  ;  they  bent  alike 
and  at  once,  in  the  beseeching,  for  themselves  and  for 
each  other,  of  the  petition  uttered  over  them,  — ';  that 
they  might  daily  increase  in  the  Holy  Spirit  more  and 
more,  until  they  should  come  into  the  everlasting  king 
dom." 

The  one  leading,  "  in  the  knowledge  and  obedience  of 


BETROTHALS.  375 

the  word/'  the  one  "  fatherly  hand  to  be  ever  over  them," 
the  one  "  mighty  protection,  for  hearts  and  bodies,  both  here 
and  ever,"  that  they  might  "  be  preserved  both  in  body 
and  soul "  were  invoked  for  them  ;  and  at  last  the  "  bless 
ing  of  God  Almighty,  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost,"  to  "be  upon"  and  "remain  with"  them  "for 
ever." 

Lyman  and  Serena  said  "  Amen,"  with  all  their  hearts. 

As  the  little  lines  came  down  the  aisles  again,  from  the 
choir-voices  and  from  the  standing  congregation,  from 
many  of  their  own,  as  they  stood  once  more  in  their  places, 
came  the  ringing  refrains  of  the  hymn :  — 

"  Onward,  Christian  soldier, 

Marching  as  to  war  ; 
With  the  cross  of  Jesus 

Going  on  before ! 
Christ  the  royal  master 
Leads  against  the  foe ; 
Forward  into  battle 
See  his  banners  go. 
Onward,  Christian  soldier, 

Marching  as  to  war, 

With  the  cross  of  Jesus 

Going  on  before  !  " 

Dr.  Fuller  sang,  in  a  full,  glorious  voice,  with  uplifted 
head  ;  a  soldier  of  the  King,  —  an  "  enlisted  soldier." 
Peace,  with  her  sweet  tones,  kept  clear  harmony.  Many 
an  eye  rested,  many  an  ear  bent,  upon  those  two.  But 
none  knew,  or  could  surmise  anything,  beyond  the  one 
holy  purpose  of  the  hour ;  and  it  was  well. 

To  them  it  was  at  once  consecration  and  high  betrothal. 


XLI. 

IPOM^A. 

THE  summer  lingered  into  late  September.  The  sun 
slipped  easily  past  the  equinox.  One  day  and  night  of 
steady,  bounteous,  fountain-filling  rain,  and  the  southwest 
wind  came  round  again.  The  grass  was  green,  the  foliage 
of  the  trees  just  dashed  with  rainbows,  as  if  a  prism  hung 
quivering  somewhere  in  the  sky.  The  Little  Happigo  ran 
blue  and  full  toward  the  sea. 

Serena  and  Peace  Polly  were  spending  busy,  happy 
days.  Their  lives  had  been  rained  full  of  freshness  ;  the 
river  of  their  hopes  brimmed  up  and  flowed  abundant  on, 
beneath  a  bright  present  shining,  unto  a  future  of  fulfill 
ment  ocean  deep  and  wide. 

There  was  no  reason  why  either  of  the  marriages  should 
wait,  beyond  the  completion  of  such  pretty  industries  as 
women  invent  and  urge  for  weddings.  And  in  these  days 
those  are  easily  accomplished. 

All  Peace  Polly's  side  of  the  house  was  being  bright 
ened  to  the  last  dainty  touch  of  order  and  replenishment. 
New  treasures  and  old  —  but  the  old  were  the  better  — 
were  procured  or  brought  forth  from  safe,  unused  keeping, 
and  were  filling  up  the  rooms.  The  things  that  had  waited 
through  generations  were  to  appear  before  a  generation 
that  would  almost  give  for  them  the  eyes  they  looked  with, 
now  that  they  were  only  purchasable  in  modern  imitations. 
Peace  Polly's  housekeeping  would  be  among  real,  old. 
lovely  things  that  had  a  history  to  them. 


1POMMA.  377 

For  Serena,  she  would  shut  up  the  Wyse-Place  through 
the  winter.  In  the  spring,  Mr.  Mark  Thurleigh,  artist, 
author,  poet,  who  had  been  breaking  the  tenth  command 
ment  for  it  these  five  years  past,  —  only  he  said  he  saved 
the  letter  and  some  of  the  spirit  by  keeping  discreetly  out 
of  the  neighborhood,  —  might  come  and  hire  it. 

And  all  the  plans,  the  talk,  the  quiet  sewing,  went  on 
entirely  among  themselves.  It  was  nothing  new  for  Se 
rena  and  Peace  Polly  to  be  much  together.  There  was 
no  intermeddling  or  surmise,  further  than  that  people  said 
it  was  a  good  thing  for  the  girl  having  Serena  Wyse  to 
"  kind  of  half-mother  her,"  —  so  they  expressed  chaperon- 
age,  and  in  a  far  better  wording,  —  "  as  long  as  things  were 
as  they  were  ;  Dr.  Fuller  there,  and  his  wife  not  com 
ing,  and  nobody  but  Peace  Polly  to  take  the  head  of  the 
house.  Lyman  showed  his  sense  in  making  himself  a  lit 
tle  more  neighborly  for  the  sake  of  that."  One  thing  cov 
ered  the  other ;  the  shield  was  double. 

The  Bonnyborough  chit-chat  had  been  full,  even  as  the 
brooks  were,  with  the  plentiful  autumn  befallings.  It  was 
busy  now  with  the  young  rector  and  Rose  Howick.  One 
regular  wedding  in  open  preparation,  with  all  circumstance, 
did  very  well  for  a  stand-by ;  for  variation,  it  had  enough 
to  guess  at  about  Dr.  Fuller  and  his  practice,  and  his  com 
ing  into  the  church,  and  where  his  wife  was  and  was  go 
ing  to  be,  —  without  once  hitting  the  real  mark.  There  is 
nothing  like  having  a  few  extra  strings  to  the  bow,  —  I 
was  tempted  to  say  a  few  children  to  throw  out  to  the 
wolves,  —  in  the  way  of  subjects  to  furnish  to  one's  neigh 
borhood,  for  enabling  one  for  a  limited  time  to  keep  some 
special  subject  to  one's  self. 

Some  time  early  in  October,  Miss  Serena  meant  to  have 
a  little  tea-party,  —  the  Schotts  and  Dr.  Fuller,  Rose  How 
ick  and  the  young  rector,  the  old  rector  and  Mrs.  Dora, 


378  BONNYBOROUGH. 

and  her  own  minister,  Mr.  Dawney,  with  his  family.  She 
had  not  made  up  her  mind  as  to  the  asking  of  Miss  Mal- 
lis.  The  reason  why  was  that  she  was  not  quite  sure  as 
to  the  Christian  charity  of  her  motive. 

Dr.  Fuller  came  in  one  afternoon  at  the  west  doorway, 
and  went  up  the  west  side  stairs.  A  few  minutes  after, 
Miss  Serena  went  away  home.  Peace  Polly  was  left  by 
herself  in  her  own  room.  She  was  moving  about,  singing, 
as  she  put  away  some  work  she  had  been  doing,  bestowing 
various  fine  little  garnishings  in  her  bureau  drawers,  and 
then  setting  her  sewing-table  straight  to  leave  it  for  the 
night. 

Dr.  Fuller's  door  opened,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hall,  and  he  came  and  tapped  at  hers.  "  Will  you  come 
over  into  your  other  house,  Peace  ?  "  he  asked  her.  And 
as  she  joined  him,  with  her  frank  face  and  charming 
blush,  putting  her  hand  in  his,  he  bent  over  her  with  his 
tender,  reverent  salute,  and  said,  — 

"You  don't  call  me  to  look,  Peace,  when  you  put  the 
pretty  things  into  your  new,  old  rooms.  You  are  as  shy 
as  a  bird  with  her  nest ;  but  I  can't  help  seeing  sometimes 
as  I  pass.  And  now  I  have  taken  a  little  liberty  to  put 
something  there  myself.  Don't  be  frightened,"  as  the 
head  came  up  inquiringly.  "It  is  nothing  rich  or  over 
whelming  ;  you  know  I  don't  seek  my  Peace  with  gifts,  — 
of  the  things  that  perish.  Have  n't  I  been  good  ?  " 

Peace  looked  down  upon  the  simple  band  of  gold,  with 
its  little  signet  of  pure,  glistening  chalcedony,  delicately, 
wonderfully  graven  with  lettering  that  only  they  two  knew, 
and  that  could  never,  by  any  chance,  be  read  by  curious, 
intruding  eye  without  a  microscope.  She  touched  it  gen 
tly,  involuntarily,  with  her  finger,  and  said,  "  Yes." 

"It  is  only  a  sweet,  growing  thing,"  he  told  her.  "I 
have  been  keeping  it  for  weeks,  till  it  should  be  just  ready. 


IPOM^EA.  379 

Mrs.  Farron  helped  me  with  my  little  plan.  It  is  a  plant 
for  open  air,  but  we  have  trained  it  for  your  window.  It 
will  blossom,  I  think,  quite  on  into  the  winter,  for  it  was 
started  late." 

They  went  into  the  northwest,  sunset  room,  which  at 
the  side  projected  with  a  great  square  bay  that  also  let  in 
the  noon-shine.  Some  straight  curtains  of  a  filmy  Indian 
staff  fell  from  the  carven  cornice  across  it  to  the  floor. 
Through  the  folds  the  sky-glow  gleamed  from  the  down- 
sinking  sun. 

Dr.  Fuller  parted  the  fine  draperies,  and  led  Peace  in. 
He  put  her  in  a  low  cushioned  chair,  and  seated  himself 
upon  the  running  divan  beneath  the  long-cut  windows. 
The  sashes  were  all  pushed  up ;  the  mild,  sweet  air  was 
throbbing  through.  The  delicate  curtains  swayed  softly 
inward. 

Against  the  southerly  corner  stood  a  small  jardiniere  of 
wire-work.  A  green,  oval  pan,  with  handles,  fitted  into 
its  basket,  and  was  full  of  garden  earth  that  smelled  fresh 
from  watering.  A  light  arched  rod  bent  over  it  from  end 
to  end.  From  the  basket-rim  slight  lines  were  carried  up 
and  fastened  to  it.  All  made  a  slender,  hidden  trellis  for 
a  vine  which  grew  with  large,  soft,  crowding  leaves  of  cool, 
pale  green,  and  covered  it.  Sprays  and  tendrils  swept  and 
curled  around  it,  fringing  it  airily. 

Not  a  blossom  was  open,  but  there  were  long,  folded, 
twisted  buds,  convolvulus-like,  thrust  here  and  there  from 
among  the  leafage.  Tapering  ribs  of  clear  green  marked 
them  from  stem  to  tip  with  their  strong  curves.*  Between 
these  showed  pure  white  lines  of  unbloomed  corollas. 

The  level  sunshine  lay  shimmering  upon  the  green,  and 
coaxed  the  buds  with  warmth.  The  summery  air  breathed 
through  them  with  whispered  persuasion. 

"  Now  watch  !     As  the  sun  goes  down  they  open." 


380  BONNYBOROUGH. 

They  sat  together,  still,  as  before  some  unshown  mys 
tery.  Was  this  flower,  so  closely  rolled,  to  unfold,  visibly, 
before  her  eyes  ?  Peace  wondered. 

One  bud,  a  little  larger,  a  little  more  swollen,  than  the 
rest,  the  fine  tip  just  visibly  parted  from  its  singleness  into 
yet  finer  separating  points,  and  the  white  seams  slightly 
broadened,  fixed  her  attention.  It  reached  straight  toward 
her  on  its  stem,  straight  toward  the  sunshine  that  seemed 
like  a  soft  lightning  caught  upon  its  point  and  quivering 
down  its  sides. 

The  bud  trembled.  Was  it  all  the  movement  of  the 
gentle  air  ?  The  needle-slender  tips  stood  yet  a  little  more 
apart ;  the  green  ribs  surely  stirred  reversely  to  their 
twistings. 

White  loops  of  the  corolla-edge  showed,  like  little  open 
nectaries  of  columbines.  They  stretched,  they  made  their 
beautiful  curves  wider ;  the  green  ribs  appeared,  lance- 
shaped,  with  strong,  tense,  central  ridges ;  they  divided 
the  white  bell  with  their  five  graceful,  narrowing  lines. 

It  could  be  seen  that  the  flower  was  a  bell,  —  a  trum 
pet,  rather  ;  but  it  was  not  yet  shaken  free.  The  motion 
swept  along  the  loosening  edges ;  the  loops  dropped  fur 
ther  ;  they  were  just  barely,  lightl}r,  fluted  in  now  at  the 
five  seams.  By  and  by  the  pure,  delicate  membrane  would 
gain  its  perfect  span.  Yes,  the  flower  was  opening,  slowly, 
like  a  dream. 

Slowly  ?  By  and  by  ?  All  at  once,  it  sprang,  it  flashed, 
it  leaped  to  its  absolute  beauty.  It  threw  its  curving  bor 
ders  back,  —  its  ridge-centres  made  a  pale-green  star  of 
exquisite  gradual  rays,  —  its  glorious  white  life  took  on 
full  shape  ;  it  leaned  suddenly,  and  looked  at  Peace,  like 
a  face  into  her  own ;  the  little  filaments  and  down-balls 
of  its  stamens  standing  perfect  in  its  soft,  amber  depth,  — 
bright,  fresh  dewdrops  at  the  heart,  and  the  rapture  of  its 


1POMJ1A.  381 

fragrance  pouring  forth.  Life,  splendor,  breath,  —  where 
there  had  been  but  the  blind,  closed,  waiting  thing. 

Something  almost  like  a  pain  moved  Peace  Polly. 
Something  almost  like  tears  came  quickly  to  her  eyes. 

Dr.  Fuller  waited  until  she  should  speak.  While  they 
were  silent,  another  and  another  flower  crept,  quivered, 
stole,  as  it  were,  groping,  toward  its  lovely  declaration. 
A  few  more  breathless  instants,  and  three  blooms  stood 
forth,  stately-sweet  with  their  own  shining,  in  the  dimming 
light. 

"It  is  a  dream,"  said  Peace  Polly,  with  a  hushed  voice, 
"  and  I  have  dreamed  it  all  before." 

It  was  the  flower  of  life,  she  thought,  the  King  of  the 
Country  had  shown  her,  when  he  walked  and  talked  with 
her  by  the  way. 

"  I  know  what  it  means,"  she  said  again.  "  It  is  —  the 
words." 

"What  words?"  he  asked  her.  They  stood  now, 
hand  in  hand,  fronting  the  blossomed  vine  that  had  re 
vealed  itself  before  them  like  the  bush  that  burned  for 
Moses. 

"  God's  words ;  the  things  that  Dr.  Farron  made  me 
think  of,  that  unfold  while  you  are  looking  at  them,  till 
they  flower  out  suddenly  with  all  their  meanings  ;  white 
with  light,  sweet-smelling,  full  of  dew." 

Her  words  came  like  the  flower's  word ;  she  could  not 
help  them. 

"  After  that,"  said  Dr.  Fuller,  putting  his  arm  about 
her,  "  I  scarcely  dare  to  say  what  I  have  been  thinking 
of.  And  yet,  surely  God's  highest  word  is  a  fair  human 
soul.  You  have  been  like  that  to  me,  Peace." 

"I ! " 

"  Yes  :  all  folded  up  at  first ;  something  like  hard,  re 
straining  ridges  round  you  ;  a  sharpness,  a  closeness,  a 


382  BONNYBOROUGH. 

hiding  of  yourself.  And  then,  such  a  sweet,  true,  grad 
ual  revealing ;  and  at  last  —  and  for  me  —  the  perfect 
flower  of  peace  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  that  !  You  know  I  am  not,  yet ! 
But  some  time,  for  both  of  us  —  for  all  of  us  —  it  may 
be  like  that ;  suddenly  —  after  all  the  hindrances  —  oh, 
my  friend  !  will  it  seem  like  that,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  *  He  will  perfect  that  which  concerneth  us,'  "  said  Dr. 
Fuller ;  "  you  have  got  the  right  word,  Peace,  I  do  think." 

"  We  shall  wake,  satisfied,"  said  Peace  Polly. 

The  wakened  flowers  still  held  up  their  pure,  perfect 
faces  ;  flowers  of  the  gloaming,  —  sunset-glories ;  larger, 
fairer,  more  triumphant,  than  the  dear  old  glory  of  the 
morning,  even :  telling  that  other  word,  that  the  true  day 
is  never  done ;  that  after  all  our  brightest  noon  is  but  a 
folded  waiting  ;  that  at  the  evening  tune  it  shall  be  light, 
and  we  shall  live. 


XLII. 

THE   DAY    OF    ALL   SAINTS. 

THERE  is  not  much  more  to  tell ;  but  I  wonder  if  you 
are  half  as  loath  to  part  from  Peace  Polly  as  I,  the  teller 
of  her  bit  of  story,  am  ? 

Serena  had  her  little  tea-party,  in  the  midst  of  the  Oc 
tober  glow  and  brightness.  A  splendid  harvest  moon  was 
riding  in  the  sky ;  crickets  were  chirping  by  the  old 
house-hearths,  and  in  the  full-stored  barns  and  out  in  the 
wide  stubble-fields  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth  were 
gathering  in  ;  the  Thanksgiving  days  were  coming,  and 
all  the  long,  beautiful  winter  for  the  hearth-side  joy.  That 
was  what  the  crickets  sang  of. 

Lyman  Schott  and  Serena  Wyse  stood  side  by  side,  — 
a  mere  happening  it  might  appear  to  those  who  did  not 
know,  —  in  front  of  the  deep-recessed  window,  where  we 
know  they  had  stood  twice  before  in  the  seeming  deter 
mination  of  their  fate. 

Peace  Polly,  Dr.  Fuller,  Mrs.  Dora,  Mrs.  Dawney,  had 
managed  to  draw  near,  and  to  keep  the  little  group  unin- 
vaded.  It  was  half  an  hour  or  so  after  the  tea-drinking 
was  over. 

Good  Mr.  Dawney  came  quietly  toward  them  from  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said ;  and  Mrs.  Dawney  gave  a  sur 
reptitious  little  tap  upon  the  table  beside  her,  as  she  had 
been  used  to  do  when  calling  the  sewing-circle  to  order 
for  a  report. 


384  BONNYBOROUGH. 

Everybody  turned. 

"  We  are  met  together  to  join  this  man  and  this  woman 
in  holy  matrimony." 

He  gave  time  for  the  astonishment  to  pass,  and  for 
grave  decorum  to  assert  itself.  And  then,  with  his  earnest 
"Let  us  pray,"  the  simple  service  began,  went  on,  was  fin 
ished. 

Lyman  and  Serena  Schott  were  man  and  wife. 

Bonnyborough  had  never  been  so  defrauded,  so  beguiled, 
before.  It  shook  its  head,  half  in  rue  and  half  in  wrath. 

"  We  might  have  known,"  it  said  ;  "  another  time  we 
would  know!  That  could  not  be  done  twice."  And  it 
shook  its  head  again  in  forewarned  wisdom. 

But  it  was  done  now ;  and  at  The  Knolls  there  was  a 
happy  household,  going  on  just  as  if  it  had  gone  on  so 
always.  Already  the  secondary  wonder  stirred,  that  it 
could  possibly  have  been  hindered  happening  before  ;  that 
—  like  any  other  fact  accomplished  —  it  should  ever  have 
been  different  or  doubtful. 

But  lightning  does  strike  twice,  sometimes,  in  the  same 
place. 

It  had  been  a  season  of  remarkable  catastrophes. 

All  Saints'  Day  came  ;  still,  gorgeous,  tender,  hazy  with 
sweetness ;  heaven  and  earth  leaning  together  as  they  do 
not  lean  even  in  June.  The  breath  of  very  quietness  for 
joy  was  upon  the  hills ;  the  sureness  of  the  complete  year 
apart  from  heats  or  storms  was  like  the  rest  and  sureness 
of  the  souls  in  Paradise.  Fulfillment,  and  remembrance, 
and  repose ;  calmness  of  delight ;  rapture  of  tranquillity. 
A  marriage  of  the  Indian  summer  must  certainly,  like 
the  coming  of  the  Sabbath  child,  be  "  bonnie  and  lucky, 
and  wise  and  gay." 


THE  DAY  OF  ALL  SAINTS.  385 

The  little  church  of  St.  Matthew's  stood  with  open 
doors.  No  one  was  surprised  at  that.  There  was  al 
ways  Service  on  All  Saints'.  Very  few  went  in,  —  not 
even  a  Sunday  congregation ;  that  was  as  usual,  also. 

Dr.  Fuller  and  Peace  Polly  walked  over  together ;  Ly- 
man  and  Serena  went  down  the  street  a  little  after ;  Dr. 
Farron  and  his  wife  came  out  from  the  old  rectory  as 
they  passed ;  the  four  turned  into  the  cross-street  that 
led  by  the  south  transept  door.  Great  Norway  spruces 
shaded  the  west  angle ;  their  rich,  low,  spreading  branches 
trailed  along  the  turf ;  their  spires,  like  beautiful  green 
rockets,  shot  above  the  level  of  the  roof.  They  were 
thick  with  impenetrable  shade ;  their  cones,  brown  and 
green,  of  last  year's  growth  and  this,  hung  like  pagoda- 
bells  along  the  outstretched  boughs.  The  little  group 
disappeared  beyond  them  from  all  but  the  few  worship 
ers  who  were  going  in. 

The  Morning  Prayers  were  said  ;  the  Anthems  chanted; 
tho  Creed  recited  ;  the  lovely  Collect  for  the  day  repeated 
in  a  tender  solemnity.  "  0  Almighty  God,  who  hast 
knit  together  thine  elect  in  one  communion  and  fellow 
ship,  .  .  .  grant  us  grace  so  to  follow  thy  blessed  saints 
in  all  virtuous  and  godly  living,  that  we  may  come  to  those 
unspeakable  joys  which  Thou  hast  prepared  for  those 
who  unfeignedly  love  Thee  ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord." 

And  then  was  read  the  vision  of  the  sealed  of  the  liv 
ing  God ;  of  the  great  multitude  with  the  white  robes  and 
the  palms  ;  of  the  glory  and  the  thanksgiving.  And 
after  that  the  Gospel  of  the  Beatitudes,  saying  who  are 
these  blessed,  that  are  sealed  of  the  Spirit  even  in  the 
earth :  the  poor  in  spirit,  the  meek,  the  sorrowful  for  all 
sin  and  wrong,  the  hungerers  for  all  righteousness,  the 
merciful,  the  pure,  the  peacemakers. 
25 


BONNYBOROUGH. 

Beautiful,  indeed,  is  the  Day  of  All  Saints  for  a  mar 
riage  day. 

Peace  Polly  wore  a  plain,  soft,  fine  white  gown ;  her 
straw  bonnet,  tied  with  white,  had  white  chrysanthemums 
clustered  on  it,  their  sober  green  leaves  just  bronzed  and 
crisped  with  edge  of  autumn  brown ;  a  black  silk  wrap, 
lace-fringed  and  hooded,  covered  her  dress  sedately. 

After  Dr.  Farron  had  finished  the  short  address  in 
stead  of  sermon,  whose  double  text  was,  "We  are  come 
unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,"  and  "Let  your  conver 
sation  be  in  heaven,"  instead  of  pronouncing  the  bene 
diction,  he  went  back  behind  the  altar  rails ;  some  one 
stepped  forward  and  closed  the  entrance-bars,  while  a 
sweet,  low  hymn  began,  sung  by  the  few  voices  which  led 
as  choir  that  day. 

Peace  PoUy,  her  outer  wrap  laid  by,  disclosing  her 
dress  adorned  at  belt  and  bosom  with  white  chrysanthe 
mums,  the  flowers  of  gold  and  of  the  sun,  laid  her  hand 
within  the  arm  of  her  brother,  while  Dr.  Fuller  gave  his  to 
Serena,  and  the  four  walked  up  the  aisle  into  the  chancel. 
Lyman  and  Serena  went  to  left  and  right ;  Peace  Polly 
and  Dr.  Fuller  came  side  by  side  between,  and  knelt 
there. 

When  they  rose,  Dr.  Farron  began  the  hallowed 
words :  — 

"  Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  here  in  the  sight  of 
God,  and  in  the  face  of  this  company,  to  join  together  this 
man  and  this  woman  in  holy  matrimony ;  "  and  so  went 
on,  to  the  solemn  adjuration  to  any  who  could  show  cause 
why  they  might  not  so  be  joined,  and  to  the  awful  charge 
and  requisition  to  themselves  to  confess  any  known  im 
pediment  as  they  would  answer  at  the  dreadful  day  of 
judgment. 


THE   DAY  OF  ALL  SAINTS.  387 

Truly  no  one  could  have  testified  to  aught ;  yet  that 
moment  was  the  first  assurance  to  most  of  the  witnessing 
company  that  this  marriage  could  be  possible. 

"  Comfort,  wilt  thou  have  this  woman  "  — 

"  Peace,  wilt  thou  have  this  man  "  — 

The  questions  were  asked  and  answered. 

At  the  word  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to 
this  man  ?  "  Lyman  came  and  took  his  sister's  hand  with 
a  loving  pressure,  and  put  it  in  the  minister's  to  be  given 
away  ;  the  holy  troth  was  plighted  ;  the  ring  was  placed  ; 
the  prayers  were  said ;  once  more  the  right  hands  were 
joined,  and  the  injunction,  "  Those  whom  God  hath  joined 
together  let  no  man  put  asunder,"  uttered  over  them. 
They  were  declared  and  pronounced  —  Comfort  and 
Peace  —  to  be  man  and  wife,  in  the  Thrice  Holy  Name  ; 
and  the  blessing  was  spoken  above  their  bowed  heads,  — 
the  prayer  for  all  grace  and  benediction ;  that  they  might 
so  live  together  in  this  life  that  in  the  world  to  come  they 
might  have  life  everlasting. 

They  went  down  the  aisle  and  out  together ;  Serena 
and  Lyman  followed ;  they  all  walked  home  as  they  had 
come. 

"  Well,  we  know  now  what  we  never  knew  before," 
said  Miss  Mallis,  ignoring  bravely  the  chief  ignorance, 
"  and  that 's  a  comfort !  He  did  n't  mean  his  name 
should  be  Common  Parlance,  did  lie  ?  " 

"  It  '11  be  Peace  and  Comfort  now,  all  the  rest  of  their 
lives,"  said  Mrs.  Farron  to  Dr.  Sebastian,  walking 
home. 

"  At  this  very  corner,  again,  Dora !  "  reminded  her 
husband,  laughing. 

"So  history — and  prophecy  —  repeat  themselves,"  re 
turned  the  lady,  with  her  most  serious  dignity. 

"Gaining  some  surer,  blesseder  step,  each  time,"  said 


388  BONNYBOROUGH. 

the  good  Doctor.  "  Let  us  hope  so,  in  this  history,  at 
least." 

"  I  know  so !  "  asserted  Mrs.  Dora,  positively. 

After  that,  can  one  add  anything  ? 

Mrs.  Dora  had  the  first  word  in  our  story,  and  we  will 
yield  her,  cordially,  the  last. 


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